The Birds

This room is filled

With thousands of tiny birds.
I hear their feathers ruffle
At the edge of my consciousness.
Are they parakeets?
Are they made of blood?
Such a deep red.
They peck at the stretching shadows 
Across the ceiling of my room
As car lights bleed past outside.
They tap forlornly at the window.
I wonder if they will ever escape.
I blink as they cry and flee 
Backwards into the 
Corners of my eyes 
Until they block up my 
Tear ducts with their leavings.
Their cooing and preening grows faint.
The darkness closes in.
Advertisements

One thought on “The Birds

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s