dead birds

dead birds

dead birds

and once again… i find myself in a darkened room. alone with my thoughts. my demons. i feel myself slipping away.

i am lost.

once upon a time i was a capricious and precocious little girl, with long blonde hair and wide eyes, full of hope. bad was something that grown-ups spoke of. this was not for children. cocooned from the big bad world outside, i was naive to the badness of this world. i lived in a world of fluffy bunnies, puppies and flowers… a world of pretty kites dancing on a summer breeze and bicycle rides with the pretty boy across the street, the wind in our hair and the sun kissing our skin… a world of picnics in the countryside – a frequent escape from the urban turpor that imprisoned my mother… a world of daisy chains and pretty dresses and sticky plasters on skinned knees from falling out of trees…

now i have grown. i have travelled all over the world. i have seen a lot of badness in this world. i have aged with ascerbic cynicism that is not without folly and flippancy. i turn on the television and now feel opiated to the shocks and aftershocks of the chaos we call the human race. i see humans now for what we truly are. i see humans for what we are all capable of.

and we are all capable of badness.

this is no fairytale… this is no happy ever after… this is reality. bad things are happening all over the world.

every year, every month, every week, every day, every minute, every second… all over the world.

i feel sad. but there are no tears. no shock. there is no mourning.

i feel sad that the innocent little girl who would cry when she saw a dead bird by the side of the road can no longer feel.

i feel, but only nothingness.

and i wonder if my heart has gone cold and turned black.

(c) kat mcdonald 2010


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