In lucid dream, songbird sits atop tall tree overlooking all green forest.  It coos and digs it’s beak inside itchy feathers, violently pecking till skin break. The bird grows mad in frustration; burrowing deeper than common sense allow. Tail flutters wildly behind contorted arch. It taste flesh (relief, sweet), blood, then bone.

Minute feel like hours.

Leaves sway gentle rhythm, clouds distort. All is quiet, a silent thud.

The songbird lies still underneath the tree, leg broken, neck broken, chest rise and fall in measured bursts. It’s eyes point up up towards the sky, frozen in surprise. It’s insides, outside. Dark pool grow around the form.

The sun scorch from on top of the world, watching attentively at what? The songbird does not know.  It makes last fit of wings before forever still. Gone out fighting, reaching for itch.  

In reality, man is perched inside a sunken settee, soft music an ambiance around his thoughts. He holds phone inside hands, fingers balanced mid-air over woman’s name. He swipes left and thinks of deleting conversation, but he too emotional, too too invested. He taps on  screen and begins type essay, apologising for what he do not know, hoping she give him more room to try, like yesterday and the day before.

He in love with ache like songbird. Maybe it kill him, maybe it don’t. We watch. Like sun. Maybe feel something, maybe meh.

Art Credit: Erica Eriksdotter – Scottish Songbird – Spring Art Auction 2013 – Painting No 3

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