because I can't sleep.

The absence of light bleeds
into my vision like the
tips of your wings,
covered in oil so you couldn't
fly, so you would
suffocate.

When I pointed them out you just
tried to laugh and said,
"These? These old
things were meant for
this." as you
cried yourself to sleep, as the
sun rose in the west.

"Maybe next time"
were your
silent last words.