An Empty House, An Empty Home

i'm still not sure
there is a bird inside my ribcage trying so hard to sing out
but he is iron bound
doesn't it seem like the answer should come with ease?
like the choice between drowning and surfacing to breathe?
an instinctual reaction taken for granted
an airbag, of sorts,
in our cause/effect banks planted
i am consistently riddled with perplexion
how foolish would i be to give you affection?
which eye would i suffer to watch if i sent you away?
surely the blind one
which hand should suffer to feel your face blow away?
surely the severed one
on which leg should i stand my ground?
the strength doesn't lie in the ones to which i'm bound