Stakes, Ropes, Nails, and How You Use Them

Birds flee from me, exodus from a bush,
Colored red, with autumn’s hand,
I draw closer to you, you mimic me.
My heart begins to tear at its bars.

I know the reality, yet I return.
You smile at me, I am yours,
A marionette despairingly dangling,
From cruel fingers white as hospitals.

I hear your laugh in my dreams.
I am a prisoner, you are the warden.
My feelings are your toys, like a child,
You throw me upon the carpet.

You make me remember my worth,
I choke upon dirt, I swallow rocks.
You hold me down, I cannot move.
Claustrophobia wreaks havoc upon me.

You are a massacre to my emotions.
You speak sweet air, but lies,
Set off alarms in my mind,
I disregard dangers, they wilt and peel.

I cannot be my own, so waste me,
Dispense me, I am your object.
I am mud; I am nobody, place me in flames.
Yet, there is always hope.

What?