No intention to move

I feel as if I’m covered with tar.

You are unable to see me, I am unable to freely move.

I watch as you tear up pillows, as you get your rage out on something that you feel is warm and gentle.

The feathers fly across the room, their light flight a contrast to your brutality.

They land safely, on me, covered in tar.

I look ridiculous, but now you see me.

And I have no intention to move.