Can you see these wings of mine?

They've been cut short, decayed by time.

They wilt and droop, sag and flake,

They're brittle and weak, about to break.

You're the one, who made them thus,

You took a blade, and without fuss,

You cut away what I hold dear

My past, my future, and what's now here.

You took away my freedom- flight,

I feel so trapped inside this plight.

My tears come freely, bitter; thick,

Flow down my cheeks, so I can lick

Every last drop of acrid taste,

That is my freedom… gone to waste.