Bluebird.

Once upon a time I had good, long hair. And then it reduced to 'once upon a time'.If you look at my face now, you would be looking at the face of the dying. This one time, I had a vision where I was a madman looking for a jutting piece of rock muttering 'am I really that lonely yet?' Rainclouds formed, my hands were covered in glue-skin that was safe to peel. I tried saying, 'Hello, I have a new haircut, and man do I look like a boy, would you let me sit, I think I can leave when I must, oh yes? I must hear you sing then!' I tried saying more but it only came out of my mouth to form a puddle at my feet, inviting me to drown in it. The rainclouds, the puddle, and then the fucking birds. What do you do then, where will you run, they can fly you know. You want to punctuate each sentence with panic, but how do you even do that? How do you grab your towel and how do you reach for the door? Your limbs are lighter already, the updraft under your extended glue-skin has taken you and you're with them now, not one of them, just lighter bones and still an eye out for a jutting piece of rock with a spot of sun.