Wings Clipped

All of our best intentions

rotted in the belly of

those metal institutions,

muffled warnings

distorted, if heard at all.

Choose a new name,

eradicate your fading past,

embrace the future -

open armed -

just to find your wings

clipped.

They squeeze you ’til you sing

the tune they want to hear

with their skeletal hands

made of cheaply welded metals,

nails digging in.

The grey skies darken,

the rain cleans nothing,

archaic fortunes

no longer yours.

They polish your pains,

their walls adorned

with the moments when

your hopes were crushed,

your death framed on their mantelpiece,

blood turning jaundiced

above the fireplace.

Their scissors clip your angel wings,

you plummet back to the concrete

incomplete, again,

and large detached teeth

feed on your flesh

in the endless dark.