I sit
In a jar
On a refrigerator shelf.

I spend my days
Peering through the glass.
But all I see is tinted red
Ma vie en rose.

Saccharine water has permeated my core.
It overwhelms me,
The security, the ennui,
Of the cold, dark shelf.

My ripening days are far behind, and
My neighbors are resigned.

I clutch the vague memories of my life
In the outside world
Which is better?
The wild and unsure,
Or the comfortable, ruby reassurance?

A short life in the wind?
Or is placidity protection?