I Read to a Parrot

Seeing the parrot in distress,
I began to read aloud, turning the pages slowly so he could catch my every movement.
He eyed my bookmark warily.
I bent myself into a half slouch, half standing position so he could read what I was reading to him, if he could read.
He cocked his scruffy grey head to one side,
listening, as the words tumbled out of my mouth.
A chain to his right claw was there to make sure he was prisoner.
He strained that chain so he could hear better, or maybe aim better so he could take a bite out of my thumb.
He might have been once a handsome bird,
but pressure of being isolated took out what made him sure of what he was.
If a parrot can go crazy and lose defined intelligence,
I guess humans too can walk into their own mind-trap.
If our reality is based on structures of experience and belief,
I come to the conclusion that no life is 100% objectively real, because no one is me.

Based on my belief that I am the reality.