Bird Brain

I don't really know what phase I'm in
I'm not that concerned with much right now
Not trying to get my life back, I'll revel in this broken-heartedness
But what's a broken heart?
Is it broken like a wristwatch?
More like Humpty Dumpty
I'm the vision of an egg-shell man with a fetish for heights, and worst of all, no balance
My trouble is that I've fallen into such disrepair that I fear for my life
By the time I finalize this wretched reassembly, I'll be close to spoiling and not much use to anyone
Would I explain this to the solemn finches and sparrows who absentmindedly peck around my waste?
No
It would do me little good, so I mumble to myself with a similar effect
I see the same world with my eyes shut, so I keep them that way
In my foolish musings all that was "you" becomes all that is "her"
Maybe that's the next step
Either way, I hesitate to take steps, as each one brings a different kind of brokenness
So now it's "I miss her" on my brow
A resigned version of "I miss you"
A cease to the pleading coupled with an onset of dreary droopiness
Altogether unatractive I'm sure, indicative of the one how makes himself unlovable by believing it so
In this state, I'll pile up words like money-grubbing Scrooge and take no holiday
A bird sits on my table at home, and I'm able-bodied enough to carve an ostrich
But there's no will behind that knife
No knowledge of raptor anatomy or bravery to take risks
When I do open my eyes, I'm watchful
I see every scurrying beast on the forest floor, but when I catch their scent, I turn up my beak
My call is ironic; "Who?"
It is at night when I ask this
My fowl nature turns ever more sour
Bitterness glows on the horizon and I twist my neck at these new flavors
Earthbound with clipped wings, I trudge familiar paths and take what comes down from park benches
My dreams are bled by buckshot, clenched tight in a dog's mouth
I take off my cap, sit back and enjoy my blackened trigger finger food
Who I am in this story depends on who you ask, and ultimately fades from importance
Who she was remains a mystery, scattered by the wind
What pieces we took from each other start to whither
Neglected fledglings all, they cry out, beyond pacification
I take a little time to hunt for their meal, but no regurgitation seems to satisfy them
Their spines bend with sickness and a coming death
Who knows what brave birds these little ones would have become?
What unfathomable heights would be cut by their wings in the vast blue?
A mirror of a lake stretches beyond expert comprehension
Disruptive ripples emerge from a central floating figure
Ruffled and lifeless, this omen bobs a message
If my heart has ever been lifted by the story of the phoenix
It is now ever sunk at the sight of it;
This dead duck