Icicle,

Sleeping under wings,

and red stains my eyes!

You whisper, a dissimilar variation of languages

borrowed from ancient ones;

yet! my!life!is!not!exactly!what!i!expected, love.

Bones on bones on bones

and marionette skeletons.

I awake, but there are leftover feathers in my bed!

Staircases and yellow sweaters

still, no longer exist;

I am human, after all.