decaying.

Rats crawl in the darkness, scurrying past decaying rugs.
Holes in the walls, a light that doesn’t work - never has.
And we lie in the bedroom, a bed without sheets - stained with God knows what.
It’s cold - but it always has been.
We touch, but it’s something unusual - something strange.
Close to nothing at all.
And we sigh, and say our forevers like usual.
But the forevers seem different know, more hollow - more hummingbird bones.
And I’m ready to take my flight, but I can see your wings are clipped.
What is a hawk to do without her mate, except fly away -
Her hawk song is different now, a world away; it is another tune,
Another breath within her life.
This is more than whether or not I love you - this is about flight.
Rising on currents of air, soaring into the abyss - and not knowing exactly where
I’ll nest the next night.