Fly Free and Die Die Dying in the Sky

I want to be like a bird in the sky,
and fly.

I remember so many dreams, floating across the floor, my legs dangling.
So many dreams where I wake up from the misery and fly away.

But then sometimes I just lose control,
and like Charlie in the Cholate Factory,
I find myself floating towards the ceiling,
uncontrolled.

Am I lucid?
Or am I dying?
Waking from dreams where I am flying to find I am but a broken bird that has fallen.

Can I wake tomorrow and find that I am flying still in the sky,
dreaming of a life where I don't want to die.
But it's too hard to flap my wings when they are but floppy arms of rubbery flesh.

And I am no bird.
I am death.

I am falling flying soaring dropping towards the sky and I fly into the shell of our world and the universe and I can't control the wings that I've been given but I'm alive and I'm dying and another day where I'm falling free into the sky which I seek and a pool of blood where I'm drowning in the skies.

When will I fly free?
When will I not feel the pain of living?
When will I see the skies where I want to soar?
When will I fall?
When will I rise without control?
I'm crying...

_{Image by Engin_Akyurt Nov. 1, 2012 CC0 (source)}