vibrant colors on beautiful birds caged in uselessness and never flying free when the doors wide open from the presence of fear and the absence of dream.
mortared into corners and clutching onto our terrible lives and meaningless possessions with talons of counterproductivity. terror-stricken by vagrancy and holding up the dagger to our hearts while submissively allowing the beast of prey to cut through with ease until the blue waves come out through the tear ducts of depression and the voice starts trembling and the feathers start molting and we start falling apart at the seams.
working hard for everything and surviving on nothing.
our lives and our deaths wouldnβt be so sad and we wouldnβt be so terrified of change if only we had proficiency and understanding in our viviparous days that when we wake up to face the sunrise, the reckoning of agony begins.
weβd be able to fly free a little more often like catapulted hippopotamuses but here, in the swampland of our darkness thatβs our cross to bear.