The Gilded Cage

A gilded cage, they called it love,

Woven with threads of silken glove,

But underneath, a rusted wire,

That cut and bled with slow, hot fire.

Like ivy strangling ancient stone,

Your presence choked me to the bone.

You stole the light, a creeping blight,

And left me lost in endless night.

The stagnant well of whispered lies,

Reflected only hollow skies.

A slow decay, a silent seep,

While dreams dissolved in poisoned sleep.

We cling, a desperate, tangled vine,

To broken masts in stormy brine.

A primal fear, a hollow ache,

To face the self, for goodness’ sake.

Why crave the sting, the bitter taste?

A hollow echo in the waste.

A yearning for a touch long gone,

Before the thorns of falseness shone.

We built our hopes on fragile glass,

And watched them shatter, quick and fast.

The tide arose, a crushing wave,

And swept away the love we craved.

Like fractured wings that cannot fly,

A tragic song beneath the sky.

The sticky mess of what’s been lost,

A heavy price, a bitter cost.

The mirror cracks, the illusion bleeds,

The gilded cage, its truth concedes.

The rust, the wire, the cutting pain,

A stark reminder, etched in rain.

Yet, in the wreckage, something stirs,

A fragile hope, the spirit purrs.

To break these chains, to find the key,

To finally learn to truly be.

Alone, perhaps, but whole and free,

From toxic tides of you and me.

To nurture self, a tender bloom,

And rise above the poisoned gloom.