pretty, lost birdie
sitting on your
rooftop,
you are skin
and bones.
and shrinking,
and shrinking;
all vertebrae
and ilium.
but,
your bones
just don't fit
quite right.
you sing
sad songs
of "why can't
i fly?"
you rattle
your cage
but the only thing
that ever leaves
is blood
from your
veins
as you whither
away
singing
"why,
oh, why?"












thank you so much for the
--
Sorry about my bad English
Coby
--
i will be your accident if you will be my ambulance
--
Sorry about my bad English
Coby