Caged Bird

My mind sloshes
With bullets in my brain
I shot them in myself
And embraced its enduring damage

Its love to me
A perfect world
A surreal realm very diverse from the agony here
I skip into this threshold everyday
And refuse to leave this refuge of enthralling semi consciousness
For just imagine, bottle capped delight
Recurring races with heightened senses
And hackneyed sniffles as sinuous as a tributary stream across the face
Only I can understand.

I grapple ever so firmly
Of the dream that its essence
would become more tangible than it ever was before.
Some days of a rare upon a rare
I would catch a pee shiver of something so close to real
I could even hear the breathing of the concept
It would flush my heart into a more comfy chasm
For an entire day or at least a few good hours
Like a little thrill in life that
Often gets elapsed by the nudges of realism
Hence wasted
Especially when the world falls back on you and all you see
Is that distant misapprehension
Sputter vaguely and then is gone.

Some days it vanishes before
I was even cognisant
Of its silent yet lumbering presence
And the sting of missing it by a feather
Lingers longer
Than any possible bodily harm.
This makes me prefer that desolate state of no breaths.
When the legitimacy of all the fallacy is disclosed
Just like a flower unfurling its toxic inner pestilence
To the bees it feeds.

I crash and burn
And I feel the pain of the bulletsin my brain
Wihch I no longer
Can withstand to embrace.
That too makes me prefer the state of no breaths
But that for now,
The sooner the better.