Right Tight

I know, I know...there's a bluebird in my chest Bukowski, I know.  I fear to let him out for when I do, he screams and shouts.  His havoc reaps blisters that heal not quite right and I, ensnared by his charms, left much the same.  When he returns from his travels abroad, he's colder, harder, with a crazed look in the light of his eyes.  He doesn't want to go back for he's lived fully for a time and my insides are no place for something so delicate.  He abides only out of obligation and a strange sense of attachment that could only resemble the love I've fed him.  He's had troubles out there.  Nothing compared to what is expected of him in here and yet he often returns in no passing at all.  My bluebird friend returns...always a little hurt I think that I ever so willingly embrace him and drain his juices once more.  Precarious our relationship, yet the most stable thing I've ever known.  Misery loves company...and bluebirds, incidentally.  I really do my best to listen to his version of the world....it always seems so saturated in whimsy and reverence.  I ask him questions(as if I don't already know), and he responds how I knew he would...transitory trial passed.  I am always validated by my winged friend...he never disappoints and always returns.  He rights my rights and soothes the turbulence I so enjoy to spread and share and suffer in.  One day i will suffocate him in my chest where my heart once beat and he'll know why...oh yes...only he will know why.