The birds awoke before the sun had risen,
Provoking violence in the shallow dreams
That climbed the walls inside my sheetrock prison,
Their silence-rending calls like frightful screams
Of women being hunted down by hordes
Of armed and ruthless warriors who forgot
About the battle they were headed towards.
An ordinary morning this is not,
Yet fairly normal as things go these days.
The doctor said my mind is slowly dying
And I will have to find some other ways
To make it through the night, but he was lying.
He should have said that everything is right
As rain..., as apples — take another bite.