The days turn into sand
The night is a deadly rodent and the feathers of our young are thrown about in a reckless, god-fearing, nature.
Cast aside like a stove in heat, teenage hormones running to catch up to the few that are too far ahead.
The bills flying through the air, attached to the parrots they were born to.
Why live where questions are the answers to the questionable comments and unheard statements.