I am very sorry if this is confusing to anyone who happens to read it. Thank you for clicking on the title.
The bird perched precariously on the rotten branch. It was a perfectly decent bird with blue feathers, the color of long forgotten toes in the dead of winter, with a blood red chest to mimic the pulsing blood flowing under its writhe little body. The black eyes imparted no wisdom, no love, and no hatred. They were simply eyes used to see but never visualize. Visualizing was for dreamers and dreamers possessed wisdom, love, hatred. The only way to visualize is to envision your hearts greatest desire. The birds swirling vortex that were its eyes never expected this rotten and worn branch to break. It was always a desired idea but never did the bird expect the branch to follow its wishes. The bird saw itself plummeting to the hard earth when the ground was frozen over not with snow, fluffy with less impact but ice an abrupt killer. Everyday the bird snuck forbidden glances over the branch seeing what could be. Visualizing what could be. Visualizing its small body writhing not with lust or pride but the painfully glorious relief death by ice could offer. Visualizing the sweet warm blood spilling over the ice and finally becoming what it always thought itself to be, cold and lifeless. If blood was meant to be warm why does it always run cold? Were we once cold beings with lifeless bodies and disembodied souls wandering to find the right victim who could only bear the cross for so long? This cross that would weigh it down in perilous heights and fall freely with it when it plummeted? The bird's wish finally came true when it heard the wind taking up its arms the bird hopped out to the very end of the stick. The sweet waves of air flowed through the bird and its wings so freely that a sweet and begging chirped escaped its beak that felt trapped for so many years. The wind was its solace and the ground its lover. The branch was holding out on the bird, but all it took was a jump to convince the branch further. The bird fell to the ground with beauty and love and hatred and wisdom in its eyes. Oh sweet, sweet death take away my sorrow and it will soon inflict someone's heart tomorrow. The snow came and the seasons went like they always do and the bird with its blue wings and red chest were covered in the soft white snow, its cleanser. The black eyes froze over to match the ground that it joined in holy matrimony.
