Birds.

Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all.

-Emily Dickinson

 

So get a gun and shoot the bird
and kill it while you can
its tone deaf and it has no words
it'll squawk till you go mad.

-Me

 

 

Hehehehehe:)

Fuck.

Sorry, Emily Dickinson.

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

5 thoughts on “Birds.”

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