Short Beaks Poems

Blunt Black Beaks

They're really masked buzzards.
Singing sweetly like pretty larks.
Until they plunge a blunt black beak
deep inside your giving heart.
Once you're fully bled dry.
You'll be fed talons of worthless gems.
Gangrenous oxygen from broken harps.

Over your bones they'll hiss strange melodies.
Dump your soul in a shallow bowl of their own making.
They'll claim victory. Drinking at your expense.
It's best to quickly close every valve and never-never let them in.