Were it so I had my hands on a bird
I’d pluck it apart until all that was left
Was its tiny still beating heart.
With that heart I would create a tiny friend.
A sweet friend without words or voice,
It’d stare at me begging me to love it.
And I would. I would love it so much
That the blood spills over in its cup of heart,
No longer bird and never will it understand
What it has become through my hands.
That friend I’d keep, and together we’d watch
Its old body rot and decay in seas it never seen.
It’d be my child. My heir. My legacy to the world.
A machine with the heart of something alive
Something that still feels through its mechanical gears
And still cries even without eyes in its sockets.
And it would be mine. My sweet little thing.