Loose

She lays slowly dying
Syrup dripping from her feathers
As her lust it starts crying
Not knowing whether
It was her fault for trying
To wash away the stink of fear
With an intoxicating musk
Drawing all to her nest
And when dawn becomes dusk
That's when she does her best
To beckon them near


And one by one she takes their needs
Hoping that she can shed her shaking skin
But she only gains another layer
Another regret, another pin
To stick in her silky lair
A mark of happiness; that was never there.


In the end she becomes 
A cuckoo to her mind
She frantically flaps
And realises she cannot fly.


Trapped by her terror.
She knows she must stay, and carry out
What they say every good bird should.
Otherwise where can she go, even
If her wings they start to heal
She is strapped to her fate
Now too late to peel
Away the once honeyed skin
And become herself.


She must live inside a fairytale nightmare
Where her greatest pleasure has become
Her greatest fear, and yet her only force
To make her place in this world, to make others succumb
To what she thought she wanted, but it seems so unfair
And now she waits, and still to scared
Of what she thought could be the source
Of empowerment.


Of course, there is no escape.
She is, in a way, that little bird
That she once was. Held by all,
But the difference is, she is now alone.
Homeless in a home.
Held in by her walls, nowhere to lean
The only difference now.
Is that her cage cannot be seen.