I'm Scared of Crows

I'm scared of crows,

And one approaches me, watching.

I drop my head like a sack at sudden impact.

I succumb to a fate I don't have awareness of yet, with the ease of existing, with the ease of breathing.

It pierces through me yet I cannot see.

I rest my hands at my belly, like a hungry child begging.

Something rustles through the fibers of my muscles as it inches further and further in

And sounds like a low hum that I usually hear faintly in my dreams.

The hum comes from a siren on the 7th hour.

This must be a violent dream.

I wait for death or escape, but nothing comes.

I resign like a brick in a wall as I wait to feel the warmth of blood oozing from this wound and yet the blood never comes.

I must be in a violent dream.

I want to pull and tug,

But what am I fighting?

Am I dying; or am I actually living?

I have struggled here before, and in dark places I roamed.

But where am I now?

The crow just observes; does nothing, says nothing as it usually does. 

But it puts on a show and spreads its wings when the world is watching.

And when the world goes home, I don't know where it goes.

But I guess it goes in dreams, as I do.

I call it closer to me, as the warmth starts to burn.

And so it perches on my shoulder

With its crimson beak while the warmth oozes out of me.