Superlative Mediocrity

Negation's Vulture

she is
not the sweet songbird—

she does not
blush softly under
the touch of morning light
her innocence
played games all through the night

she doesn't fold
softly into your palms
basking under the
silk of your touch
she doesn't feel passion
she doesn't feel much

she doesn't crave peace
at the break of the dawn
she doesn't know empathy
she doesn't know its song

she doesn't mind
the sound of your heart
as it tears from your chest
she doesn't mind
the way your heart falls
to lay with the rest

she doesn't mind
the crack of your bones
in her bloodied beak
she doesn't mind
the feel of your tongue
grasped to hers, unable to speak

she doesn't look back
as she rises to the sky
she never cared to answer
the question of why

she is not
the sweet songbird
greeting the dawn—

she is
the Vulture
who fed on your life
who plucked from you
the soul of your song