My heart is like a bird in a cage, that is so weak that it cannot even will itself to perch high above to sing a single note, nor fly out of the cage door, that is open. You were the boy who poked it with a stick as a baby making it fall at your feet but still had the audacity to stuff it into a cage and pretend to love it. I was the bird, broken and battered lying at your feet, begging you to love me. What I thought was love was just intoxicating poison that has seared my throat closed, so I like the bird can no long expel a single rhyme from the depth of my heart, no poems can come from me any longer. Your love was so easy to free myself from, I like the bird could easily fly out of my cage, your jail, where you were the guard who always slept on duty. I could easily tip-toe past you. I wonder why I never did.
-I still wonder
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Ink
PoetryI will not pretend to be a poet. I simply lace letters into words, words in verses and these verses are my feeling which have slowly bled through the pages of my notebook. This is my "Bleeding Ink".
