The Thrumming in his chest

Was not that of a heart.

Instead, it was the wings of a delicate

Little bird.

Still fighting to escape her ivory prison.

Her melody had been that of sweet nectar.

She had floated on the sunlight that once graced

Her wings.

But she had been stolen away from that light

And everything it touched.

By the skeletal hands that abuse the

Old Crow.

The blood that pulsed the metallic color of her feathers

Had become every bit as barren

As her distant eyes, sunken behind

Black rings.

He fiddled halfheartedly with the lock of her cage.

Only to hear the excited trill of her fictitious freedom

Beat hard against his lungs, blurring his thoughts.

He cackled.

He said she would be set free as soon

As his heart stopped it’s thrumming, but she knew.

Deep in her hollow bones, she knew that she would never live to

See that day.