Look, guys! It's another poem by your resident edge lord, With Death Comes More Death!
Have fun and stay safe! When you stray too close to the edge, you'll probably slip in and never be seen again. Please, be seen again.
This has been a message brought to you by some random writer on the Internet with a sense of self-worth that equals zero.
-Mandatory Disclaimer-
My personal philosophy: Work hard enough at life so you can have enough money to buy a gun to shoot yourself with at the age of sixty.
(Man, you hear this fucking edge lord?)
-Poem Interlude: Birds and Cages-
Birds are pretty things.
Rather, ugly ones are rare.
They're very simple
So, messing up takes effort.
They only look bad
When they screech really loudly.
When you fuck up hard
And you receive just punishment.
I've always liked birds.
Why? Probably because I
Always wanted to
Become just like them in a way.
They can fly away.
They can leave when they want to.
When their meals become
Rotten, they leave it behind.
Me? I'm not like that.
I've always been someone who
Needed a link to
Someone to get anywhere.
I'm a parasite.
A living cage who lures in
And hinders birds'
Flight so much, they have to stay.
I know I've never
Been someone who was ever
Looked for heavily.
Just a burden, nothing else.
So, I was surprised
When I saw her standing there.
Wasn't fooling me,
Though, I'm sure she wanted that.
The bird before me,
The paint on her face, I've seen.
She knows that as well.
Obviously, there were plans.
I didn't know them
And honestly, I didn't
Give a single damn.
To them, I have no value.
This damn cuckoo bird,
The one I've got caged up now,
Probably is what
They're after with this effort.
After what I just
Told him, that wasn't
Going to happen,
Not yet, at the very least.
He's not matured yet.
Still an infant, who hasn't
Done what he should yet.
What all birds of his kind do.
Until he reaches
That point, I will continue
To hold him inside
My wire-metal insides.
That's what cages do.
We're tall metal things that birds
Use for protection
And, I'm finally fulfilled.
Now, isn't that sweet?
-Poem End-
Um… Did you want me to say something else?
Given the quality of the author's note above, how haven't you still not guessed that I'm all out of things to talk about?
(Also, thanks to the editor of this story, FineChyna, for giving me the idea to incorporate cuckoo birds into this poem. Your help is greatly appreciated, fam.)