There are people inside my head, you know.
They sing and they scream and the laugh at me.
"Out out out!" They say.
"Let us out!" They plead.
"We could be beautiful if only you would set us free."
But, they would never survive in my world.
And I lock them away in my birdcage mind,
keep them hidden because it keeps them safe.
And they pound against the bars,
their fluttering hearts giving out every so often.
But, I can always bring them back to life.
I created them after all.
And, sometimes, they are grateful.
They whisper their thanks as I sleep,
because they don't want to ruin their reputations
by going soft on me.
And as soon as their tiny voices stop echoing off my skull,
they slink away, looking sheepish.
And by morning, I won't remember a thing.
By morning, they will hate me again.
So, sometimes, I let them out.
I put them into words and set them free,
at least for a little while, though it is never long enough.
They prance and turn cartwheels on my pages.
They laugh like children and run like rivers.
But, I am right.
Mother is always right.
They can't survive in a world such as this one.
The air is too thin, the sun too bright, the sky too vast.
They wither, gasping, and curl into sleeping poses,
their skin greying in the brilliance of life.
And I scoop up their fragile bodies,
holding them gently,
and put them back in their cages,
in hopes that they will remember how I saved them.
Brought them back from the brink,
and proved that they were safer inside.
But, they forget my help as I forget their thanks.
And by tomorrow they will shriek and yell
and beg me for freedom
and drive me insane.
And when I've gone insane, they will laugh,
and break free.