The Birdcage

I am an artist
Hands shaping clay
They make a birdcage
A broken birdcage
My heart is inside
Hanging from cords,Arteries
Hanging from the top of the birdcage
Trapped
I cant get out

I am a clay heart
Painted black and blue
Rotting, dying
It’s Palpitations are weak
The door to the birdcage hangs open
But I can not flee
I can not move
I am too heavy

My veins tie me up
My veins are red and also grey
They flow warm and bloody
then suddenly bend stiffly
Turning to steel
And I see that I am inside the birdcage
And also that I am the birdcage

A heavy wounded heart
Loose and dangling
And too stiff to free myself from this prison
But
This prison is me

Reviews

[Davidgeo]

Blood always gets heavy. Especially in Texas.

Good work. I enjoyed reading you.