My Little Red Bird

once i had a little red bird
that i kept in a cage of bone, intricate and ornate,
always i would leave the door open
so my bird was free to go
but he chose to stay with me.
every day, my little bird would sing to me,
sitting on his little perch in that beautiful cage
pouring out his soul through his tiny beak
night and day, as if it all were too big for his slight frame to hold in.
beautiful as it was, i chose to ignore his music.
i still cared for him, though,
laying out food and water every day like a religion
and he'd praise me in return with his music.
but later on, the bone cage turned gray and squishy
and i would forget about my bird for days on end
until came the day he stopped singing
and simply sat, a small, morose jewel.
the door to his cage, however, was still open
and he still chose to stay,
ever the faithful one.
but i showed him that sometimes, faith got you nowhere
nowhere but silences like so many gaping wounds
and after a while, you just got tired of bleeding.
his already-crimson feathers were heavy and dripping,
barely enough to get him out of there,
the dull prison formerly his home.
the morning i woke up alone for the first time,
there was nothing to me in the apartment but me
and the cage with its aching empty space
in a larger aching empty space.
wherever my darling bird has gone to,
i hope it is in the possession now
of someone who shall always keep it in a proper cage of bone
or maybe not caged at all, but perched on the sleeve of their arm
because he deserved so much better than me.
me and my silly head.

comment, please.