swallowed the bubblegum

> i was slaving, working, typing, nodding along,
and i was content. survivable, at the very least,
but then, of course, there came the bird’s song.
peaceful, as it should sound, and yet, painful.
>

> the bird, you see, she likes to mock. she flutters and flies,
and stalks the night. she preys by my window,
and watches me fight every urge, every reaction,
every little call to action as i lay lifeless at this table,
and the lines on my hands become lines in her fable.
>

> she laughs, giggles, for she’s a salesman. she sees beauty,
and tragedy, and says that it’s part of her snooty story.
‘it’s all part of my plan’, she scolds, and i nod along,
and slave, and work, and type, because, you see,
i’m sold.
>

> i walk to my factory, and she dances above, but-
there’s rain in the clouds. i’m wet, obviously,
and this suit’s in vain. the clients will sneer,
and my boss will kill me.
good plot, she says: it’s going to sell.
what a shame.
>