That same songbird sounds the alarm on my windowsill, but the chirping stops abruptly. I could still hear the ghost of its sound and its all-knowing flap of the wings.
As I feel the cage around me, I peck your fingers for all the times you've called me weak.
Peck. Peck. Peck.
For all the times you've made me feel unworthy.
Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck.
And for all the times you treated me like nothing but a squawking pest.
Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck. Peck.
Oh, what is it?
Are you silently brooding because of the consequences to your own imbecilic actions?
But it's okay, your family will still pour pity into your empty brain cavity until it flows out of every orifice in your face.
Maybe then you'll be able to admit the HUBRIS rotting in your soul.
And, although I resent you so,
I still fly freely from your broken cage.
