The sun was setting when I opened my door,

There.

On the cold gray dull concrete laid a pile of feathers,

And torn up flesh.

In a puddle of vibrant strawberry, and pomegranate colored liquid. 

Oozing out of the poor thing.

The glossy sunflower yellow eyes glistened like a glass eye for a porcelain doll.

 And just as lifeless as one too.

What had gotten this flying creature, with the gift of life...to be cut short so quickly?

Was it the noises that it stole from others?

The screech of a hawk-

the blaring sound of a car alarm?

The soft spoken words, in meows from a cat?

Or...maybe the harsh, sharp-edged barks from a dog?

How about the chitter chatter of a group of friends talking about the daily drama? 

….

….oh 

The small life had been cut short by my own fleshy hands…

How sad.