glass bowl.

i want to be free.
this glass bowl is too tight,
closing in on me.

i wish i could take flight
but i'm no bird;
no wings to spit me into
the black death of the night.

i jump and take a chance.
a chance and a mistake--
hey. same thing, right?
the rough ground's scratchy.
oddly, my insides want to
explode. i hold my breath.

and it doesn't come back.

a/n: know what i think? goldfish have all the fun.