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.