The years went blind.
I slumbered in a cage
containing recipes for melodies,
bent to bathe in plastic-wrapped
A matte black horizon,
made bearable by you.
I decorated top-to-toe,
re-arranged the furniture so often
that a trip down to the toilet
was a broken bone in waiting.
Someone said it was symbolic
of a disconnected essence,
said that I should seek and find
my self, my real smile,
play the melodies surrounding me
and dance away the cage
so I painted on my tiger stripes and tried.
He left me on the floor,
playing dead from the head down,
and that is where you found me.
A corner of your jigsaw gone forever,
Four years old and therapy insisted
you were whole.