CAGED

As you may have noticed, I write poetry when I am depressed. It takes the egde off.

 

Can someone pass the knife

I’m unraveling,

trapped, inside life

where the birds don’t sing.

stuck in a life.

of crooked flights on broken wings.

 

I languish as the days go by

I’m dying,

inside, wishing spirits were flying.

wishing birds could sing.

life would be so comforting…

Author's Note

Do you enjoy the patterning, rythm, and rhyme? How could I improve on the structural component?

Reviews

[Daniel Atkinson]

I completely know what this feels like, and it's definitely an ugly thing. You nailed the feeling right on head. A+ work.