She puts hearts on things she shouldn't.
She cries at everything but death.
She waits for no one and all.
And can't comprehend grace.
She's a star burning out and running free.
She's everything that's not.
And everything I should be.
She's careful and weary of all living things.
But smiles at death and winks confidently.
Like crumbled words on damp paper.
Fleeting but powerful indeed.

Through broken windows she does see a crimson Cardinal taking it's last breaths
Gripping to the snow drenched branch, heavy chested
Its small body weighing more than a ton now when before light enough to fly
She matches breaths with the Cardinal as it pulls death in and pushes out life
Head bundled in its chest, pressing forward knowing it's to be its last moment
The last chance to sing
The last chance to peer at the sun
The last chance to fly
From the branch it leaps to the window sill, laying gently against the window
She presses her palm against the broken glass and with that
The last breath is taken from them

Silence has never felt so comfortable as it is now
The comfort of self is so fulfilling
Before a thought so unbearable
Alone, desperately so

Yet within that self, kindness
Kindness to the self develops like an old photo in a red room
It's so picturesque
A photo now framed within my home
A photo that I share as I invite someone new to experience these walls
It's my photo
It's my frame
But the joy I see when I share it with you
Makes the photo I love into art that inspires

there are those
among us
who would
gladly beg
for you

I wish upon you one thousand deaths...
but only small ones.