Yo' Talkin' Smack 'Bout Me?

A bird slammed into our kitchen window, and hopelessly lost and alone, fell, laid, and bled, dying in a pool of its own crusty blood.

Its cause of death was so, quick, you know? But it died so slowly... Its eyes were full of wonder at first, amazement at its own stupidity or lack of caution. Yes, I should have listened to Mama Bird and watched my way around the big box dwellings. His or her, I don't know, but its eyes, they closed so slow you know? As if the bird wanted to close them, but dint have 'nuff energy. And the blood, it just... came out, thick as red crayon wax, melting. The blood just melted out of 'im.

Like a gravedigger, I dug up a hole under the dark rainy sky. Yes, this bird was the epitome for what a gloomy deathly day today is. And then I struck some roots in the dirt, and they were red, maybe red plants or hormones or whatever... but at that point, it seemed like they were crying red hot tears of blood too.

When I picked up the bird, I was kinda worried that maybe it was still alive, you know? So I kinda prodded, and then I lifted its sick twisted little body out of its own pool of blood. He was so... heavy you know? Cuz you just dint want to move him out of his rest, so delicately. And he was still warm, even in this wintry blasted cold.