The Fledgling Falls

Darkness steals my sight like blindness,

fumbling, stumbling,

like the fledgling falls from the tree.

Abandoned and naive,

the blade cuts deep

as I struggle to leave.

Seeping, weeping,

blood pumps hot as fire,

and lips grow cold as ice.

I'm running out of time.

Brightness explodes like the flash of the camera,

documenting my lifeless body.

Vibrant exposure,

just minutes behind.

Beneath the ground,

if ever found,

I'll be nothing more than

a dish on which the roaches dine.