/lit/ - Literature

>>23165652
This may be me having a schizo attack, but there is this poem about a dead bird along with pic related: >>/lit/thread/23140069#p23141460
>No flying for this broken, heartless bird—
>No dying yet except by written word;
>Although his wing be clipped and heart be rent
>He sings no less the song of his lament.

And in the next thread this one: >>/lit/thread/23142312#p23142854
>What becomes of lover's scprned?
>Do they walk the same as any,
>Do they look the way of many,
>Do they scrounge around like everybody?

>Is their world the same as ours?
>Or do they they live where there's no wind,
>Where the path is scarred with blood and bile,
>Where the birds look dead & Sky turned black.

>Do they think the same as us?
>With wound that crosses heart,
>A lover's respite never to find,
>The corpse that's bloated and defiled.
>It is a wonder they are Alive.

Finally followed by: >>/lit/thread/23142502#p23165418
>i love being an angel
>even though no one has ever loved me or cared about me

>i love being a
>dead person
>i think we can all figure out who we are

>up at the crack of noon
>or the crack of day-break
>there is a bird in the shower

>i am no one
>or maybe i am
>a pile of beheaded birds

>my surroundings are
>undeniably, unceasingly
>there, around me, surrounding me

>i see the fortunate trees
>the short slow scared power lines
>that wrap us in electric love

>what are you doing?
>this is why the birds are dead
>this is why i’m so depressed: it’s you
These seem thematically connected by the imagery of broken love (heart in the first poem) and dead birds. Are they from you?

No flying for this broken, hearless bird—
No dying yet except by written word;
Although his wing be clipped and heart be rent
He sings no less the song of his lament.