A failed writer and a caged bird.
Wings emasculated and legs tied.
Fingers stuck in my ears.
Tapping the voice in my brain shut.
Forcefed ink and forced to puke poetry.
I try to regurgitate meals of ponder.
Thoughts gnaw the metal as a relentless hunger.
They pluck a feather.
Dip it in the inkwell of my mouth.
To make it a quill.
Days become decades.
Bits and pieces of reality evaporate.
Ink congeals at the tip of my tongue.
The inferior umbilicus is trapped.
I close my mouth as I widen my eyes.
I gulp the blob of ink.
I chew the quill.
The mind hopes for a clot of words to release.
No one comes near my bars.
They say, a stench lingers.
No one comes to open the cage.
They say, it is my asylum.
Why?
Is it fear of my wild heart?
Or, is it repulsion of my rotten belly?
~ Oizys.
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