Pretty Birds Die

February 4, 2012
She touched his skin
with her lips
like she could make it all better

He told her lies
with his lips
like he could make it all better

He told the girl
of a bird
and how he watched it fly away

He told the girl
a clique;
That bird was freedom, he did say

There are beer stains
on the walls
and they pool under her green eyes

There are love stains
on their bodies,
turning sour and collecting flies

Always love ends,
he told her,
and always the pretty bird dies

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