The enjoyment they gather, from each
Black feather,
Plucked
So carelessly
from my oiled wings
They smile as pieces of me are worn
upon the brows of faint hearted paper mache
Death,
I'm served daily
upon
Silver platters,
with a side of flame
No extra charge
They smile red,
Placing my feathers in
Mine own hair
They like that
Those demons I serve myself to