Captive

My heart is best decribed

as being a bird in a bottle,

with fleeting wings beating

against glass lungs.

It sits on the border

of yesterday's panic

and tomorrow's desperation,

awaiting the rush of release.

This is my nesting ground -

my distinct hiding space

to escape the world

with protection from prey.

Too enclosed to live,

my vessel holds no safety.

The narrow neck is encaged

with a plan to meet the end.

One final word could wedge the cork -

I'm prepared for suffocation.

Drown, small lark,

in your catastrophe.

We're filled with the venom

of a cruel anxiety.

Anxiety: forever part of me.