Humans make great cattle

Because this is the Sparrow, talking to us like we are regrets, that seems to whisper as they fall into the manipulating arms of a Westerner. Broken and un-buttoned, I winced under the cotton sky, and the birds sang me a soft "good bye". As the gypsies walked over me, they tiptoed over the bridges of matches, that they once helped me sell on the street.The birds let go of me, and cast me off into a spiraling world of consequences left alone and broken skin and ashy eyes. Spring, chain in the delicate light, and force the children down. Watch them sleep with their mothers, it's time to stay a child. Please, stay a child. Oh, this is my majesty, she is sewn together from the flesh, down to the bone, her bloodline is tainted with chemicals unknown. Her smile has been cut off of the chains that held her to the bedposts, all the witchknobs and wine glasses, hold her memories and under garments. This time, it was meant to sound clean, like a knife into virgin skin and the reassuring screams as it twists and spins. You held down my emotions and cast them around, like they are your own, like they are yours to steal! He spoke like cascading pillars, and smoked with a sketchy oath of never growing old, but instead growing young with me. I fell down the stairs of God's throne, but even God, he wears a rotten crown. Because this is the Sparrow, talking to me because I regret, whispering into the ears of manipulating Westerners, and still, I cry every night, wishing these scars

would just heal,
would just heal.