My soul is wet from the tears I won't cry, carved from my body by a Cuckoos beak.
You ask for redemption but I have nothing to give.
You ask for love but it has been swallowed, taken by the shadow of yesterday that's living in my nest.
They say death comes to those who wait, but the razors edge is too sharp for balancing.
The clucking fills my mind, 'jump' is what it screams.
People see me and sigh; they don't see the feathers, or the claws, or the worms.
I really wish they could see the worms.
Rachel Rowley
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-cuckoos-nest/
