I weigh and deliberate every word that shatters from my lips
But I still say all the wrong things
Who can I trust? Who can I trust?
I talk to no one of my heart unless I must, and yet
This bird, this feathered cold-weathered thing in my chest
Flutters on and ***** along; I bet
If I were to wring its neck
There would be less tears shed than if another ended up to be dead in my stead