You said you want someone to talk deeply to,
to lay on the mattress with your skull opened
like a letterbox, begging someone to untangle
the crumpled memoirs, the lock, a cut soothed over
with the balm of gentle words, a quiet let me in.
But when I came with my crowbar to the birdcage
to fracture the bars and save the dying song smothered
in your chest, you cried in pain as I gently let you free,
opening the keyhole again for the light to creep inside;
it becomes just a wound in your fortress to bleed from.