Wings Aren't Good.

I had been sat in the chair for an age.
Straps at my limbs, like a cage.
Matted hair and whitewashed walls,
Other experiments' screams and calls.
Laboratory, torture-place,
To mutilate the human race.

At my back were two grey feathered wings,
Odd, elongated, ugly things.
A human girl, no longer pure,
Yet for these 'wings' there'll be no cure.

Some people may yearn yet to fly,
But what I am now, is a far cry.
I'm hideous, changed, these wings: a curse,
Ministrations of labmen always terse.
I never wanted to have this fight,
Never asked for a form of flight.
What they've done is something cruel,
The labmen's abused and heartless tool.

Let me free and let me go,
There's nothing grand about this show.
Wings aren't great, they're a plight on me,
And they don't come at a small fee.