a hundred still bodies
on the floor
wooden
cracking
haunting me
with the ghosts
they leave behind

a powdery smudge
like a shadow
a fingerprint
pressing onto my eyes
seeping
with charcoal
into my mind

i open my window
to the night
i shut my window
to the night

i am unsure of which
one
i should do

should i let them
in
to see
to feel
the light
that they so long for
ending their lives
in quick ecstasy
their hearts shuddering
the way their wings
shiver
in its glow

or should i lock them out
keep them
in the ink of night
to long for
the thing they will always want?