The night is dark

The outdoors is calling to me

I follow the sound of the birds in the trees

“Chirp chirp,” they say

the robin, the eagle, and the blue jay

but enough about birds, for the story

lies shadowed in metaphor

can you see it, like the dark spots on the wall

the ones that bleed desperately, pungent,

so perfect you want to turn into them

white lovely pearls embroidered

crescent like into their cruel

blue grooves

a’ creeping in the alleyway

kinda smell like dampness,

and the homeless man cackles

enjoying the misfortune of others

brings the demise of many.

How long until it is all gone?