She could hear it
The sound of a bird squawking
And beating it's wings

Against the bars of it's cage

Trying to free itself
From it's gilded prison
The image replaying

Over and over in her mind

Her home wasn't "home"
It was more of a prison
A place where

Upset and resentment grew

She did things on her whims
Hers and hers mostly
Damn everyone and everything else

She could care less
If caring meant being caged
She was losing it

And she was self-aware

The bird would beat it's wings
Against it's gilded cage and
Squawk furiously in either

Protest or as a curse

She wouldn't know
But she could hear it
Upset and resentment growing

And festering, while the shadows
Further encroached

She was returning
To the Dark Place
And she could feel it

Her psyche could only take so much

And the cracks were starting
That bird squawked more furiously
It's wings almost bloody

That bird wanted out
And she hated being so limited
She existed, damn everything else

To her, in this time,
If she couldn't have what she wanted,
Then someone wasn't going to get

What they needed.

She could hear it
The sound of a bird squawking
And beating it's wings raw

Against the bars of
A gilded birdcage