this isn't about birds. (story? poem?)

I stare at the birds on the ledge of my window, wondering where I went wrong with it all.
I shouldn’t be up this late,
i shouldn’t be looking at the birds,
hell, I shouldn’t even be tempted by the birds,
but here we are.
They want inside again,
I know I shouldn’t let them in,
but they seem to kind, so sweet,
so sickeningly sweet I feel my teeth rotting by the secounds.
I open the window.
leaving the birds to enter by their own measures as I used to do.
The one grabs a strand of my hair and eats it like spaghetti.
I feed the rest bread and milk.
Should birds have milk?
The birds shouldn’t even be inside my kitchen, much less drinking milk from a bowl like a cat.
I feel sick afterwards, but it’s the sort of high you can’t live without, not an addiction but something similar.
Is it an addiction?
was she right?
were they all right that I’d always fall to the birds?
I think so.
i let the birds in, night after night, only wishing,
praying for the day they never show up again.
only to see them outside the window yet another night.


beautifully written. tearing up at midnight. wishing you the best :people_hugging:


thanks jina :people_hugging:


Wow that was beautiful. Im not sure what its about but i hope you find the strength not to let the birds in <3


beautiful :clap:t3::sparkles: kinda puts stuff into perspective when you think about birds in your kitchen drinking milk :face_in_clouds:


Ooo nice writing :heart_eyes:


reminds me of a book I’ve read, wringer