The Confused Transsexual

Some say the song of a crow is a cry

Some say the cry of a crow is a lie

I wonder what it's like to be one of them

Do they get jealous?

Are some blacker

And therefore creators of envy and mistrust in the dark hearts

Of their brethren?

Or do they just exist

Scavenging crumbs of carrion here and there

Laughing, cackling really

At the two legged pestilence

Painfully fouling the ground beneath their airborne pirouettes

Do they really want their screaching and hideous demanding offspring

Or do they simply have no choice

But to follow compulsions blindly

Driving them into situations they cannot control

Situations that look so easy and desirable

But lead only to the same pain

And the same suffering

And the same lifeless branches that always indicate

A barrier of barren emptiness

Dead trees are everywhere