the thing is, I asked,
what is the most private thing you can say?
what is the darkest secret you can uncover?
is it a gift? can I have it?

bird girl said no, she said
that the most private thing she had
was only hers
without it she would cease to be
and she sang and sang and then
flew away

it was so very difficult for me to love,
you see,
and bird girl being oh about the
third exception to the exceptions
was alone in her kind

bird girl gave me words and kisses and life yet
there was only one thing I wanted to know
I wanted to see what was inside
I wanted to see how it was in there
where she wasn't so delicately perfect
I wanted to see what she was so scared of
I wanted to see her writhing on the floor

as we slept or
as she slept and I watched
I was certain there had to be a vulnerable
body inside that bird prison of hers
a warm, tender little corpse,
that version of her who sang out of pure loneliness
who thought of stepping in front of cars
that one who was uglier than one could imagine
the one that could hurt, that did not feel

I needed that self of her to be with me always
so I gave her my hand which
she held tightly
as I cut her head open
and ate every little piece of her brain

bird girl always left a bloody mess

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