And beak burrowing into nothingness,
Shallow breath laboring to sustain the dead-weight body.
Already giving up.
Snatching his hand away from pity,
Licking what does not sting.
A harrowing refusal.
On the streetside,
Crouching for a photo
Because it feels like capturing life
And I think I enjoy that.
Too afraid to touch it,
Lest I get sick;
But God has a plan for you, right?