the bird without wings

delicate yet decadent
creeping violently through the fibers
interwoven to perfection like spider webs
in an instance, deflowered.
your childhood dreams
passionately reflected to you
in a room full of mirrors
it's promises are lewd
yet it dances closer
in an instance, it disappears.
they were always intangible
teasing bravely but immaterial
much like a pebble thrown in water
how it sinks and sinks
and in an instance, trivial.
the anchor bounds my fragile body
"soar little bird", she says
but the weight of her words
have more than grounded me
in an instance, i am paralyzed.
her crooked smile
mock my intoxication
my delusions of “choice”
"scream loudly", she laughs
and i scream and scream
my freedom so seemingly dependent
on this voice
but my cries are muffled
only I can hear the desperation
my drunken, hazy eyes
cannot differentiate dream and reality any longer.
what has become of this certainty?
the childhood innocence 
masked with all those empirical facts
now I question them all.
and as I weave in and out of consciousness
a volatile hunger wakes me
shakes me with all its might
to things I once could not see.