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Bluebirds

Why did I let the bluebirds die,
For chirping at my sill?
Why didn’t I sob instead?
Why did it feel sweeter to kill?

They sit and chirp and sing all day,
Resting petals at my door.
Pink and creamy ivory bouquets,
That I leave to rot right on the floor.

Scowling in front of the mirror at dawn,
I pace ‘til I dull the rug in my room.
While the bluebirds plague me with their voice,
And pity me as I succumb to my gloom.

I am exactly who I don’t want to be,
The thought tickles me in the spine.
A spot of blush and a glass of venom,
I thought they would make me divine!

The birds, they’ve gone, I miss them so,
They tasted my fear and flew.
Only the carcass of remorse remains,
Reminding me of you.
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