There’s a garden gate behind my ribs, Where trembling wings perform their fibs. A thousand hearts in frantic flight, Beating storms through sleepless nights.
Their feathers flicker, burning gold, Hummingbirds filling me with lies as told. Each flutter fans a shadowed flame, Of whispered guilt and breathless blame.
Sugared air turns thick with grief, Their tiny bodies beg relief, But every time I try to breathe, They scatter; won’t let me believe.
Glass and honey, blood and bloom, Their chaos swells to fill the room. And all I do is wear a smile, While dying softly all the while.