Tired, yet restless
I look at my dead feathers with
Wide purple eyes Liquid in their fear.
It is grotesque Yet beautiful
The way you clip my wings
Cruel artisan Whose art is torture.
This weight Crushes my chest, my lungs
Of the air That I need to breathe
I claw Catching your skin and blood
As I leave with these eyes still wide open
From the pain you inflicted
And yet I am free Finally in death
Lately I’ve been kind of depressed with my job. I guess it’s a phase I have to go through. Everyone’s telling me to suck it up and be a man (not literally) but sometimes it’s hard when you have nobody to listen to you.
I just want to tell someone and have them listen, not have them judge me.
Coincidentally (to the title), I’m going for an art event later.