i felt them sputter in and out of life
between my fingers
little tails twitched-twitc-twitched
then lay still and dormant as a bulb in winter.
fur glistened with blood and i wondered
what it means to have life
and why god has means to take it away.
lives are like candles,
blow on them too hard and they sputter out.
only those narcissistic enough to relight themselves
stay here on this earth and keep
burning away in pain until they're naught but
ashes on the ground. or in it.
so i'll light a light for the lights that died
in my hands last night,
the stench of afterbirth and sour blood
infiltrating every sense i have.
i will not soon forget that dismal dark.