Hope.
With ugly, battering wings -
Fritters away its feathers in its cage.

It is the cage that encases my entrails.
It perches on my bones,
And its sweet tweets echo within

The nothing that is my body.
No, I won't be convinced by you today, little bird.
As if things will ever get any better.

Hope.
With its sharp, red beak.
Pecks away at me -

Until there's no lies to be said,
And no one to hear them.
No one at all.