day in, day out,
i lie there
praying to the three prongs above
for someone, anyone to pick me
one day, i'm lifted into the air
the metal bite into my sides
it hurts; it bruises,
but i've never felt so happy
below me the crowd surges
i laugh
they all look like ants
while i'm a wingless bird looking down
but then, the pain on my sides eases
the claw opens up
i fall back into the crowd waiting below
while it pulls back
the crowd swallows me up
and i disappear into the darkness
muffled underneath their feet
now i look just like them
the same colour of obscurity
the same worn-out fur
the same aching expressions on our faces
as we (im)patiently wait to be picked again
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