His hands were warm,
But he was dead inside.

A canary flew
in my
window and sat at
my desk with
me.
It said,
who are you?
I replied,
I'm a base
poet that's been
dropped on
his head by life
a few times.
Eyes like a
kicked dog, and a
beard that doesn't
grow straight.

It chirped like
a Bach concerto, and
said,
ah yes, we are
all just dead
birds at the
bottom of a cage, tiny
lice crawling through
our eyes.
No song.
No light.

I said,
you're a strange
little fellow.
And we sat there,
like that, waiting
for 6:00 am
so, I could make
a beer run.

I’m scared.
Scared of everything.
Waking up,
Going to sleep.
Falling in love,
Falling out of it.
Traveling the world,
Leaving my bed.

I’m scared.
Scared of everything.
To make new friends,
To miss out on connection.
Trying something new,
Leaving my comfort zone.
Risking it all,
Playing it safe.

I’m scared.
Scared of everything.