piles of dead finches

if it seems as if
the entire world
is out to get you
when do you stop
and look inside
to see if maybe
you’re the one
creating the turmoil?

how long can it be
everyone else’s fault?

none are as blind
as those that refuse
to see the world
for what it truly is

i sit in skyscrapers
watching as birds
fly into the windows
hollow bones breaking
to litter the sidewalk
wondering if any of the
window washers swaying
feel remorse for doing
their job too well

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