Little Sparrow, did you know...
                Mourning is for the dead,
                                  grieving is for loss.
              One word knows not,
                                   this disturbance of uncertainty.
It overwhelms my body, with self-diagnosed anxiety.
No call…
                No text…
                                No liberation for my unrest.
                You were simply there one day,
                                ... then not the next.

Oh little sparrow, do tell...
            Are you healthy or unwell?
                        How about those scorched wings?
            Does the memory still sting?
                                like the sadness when you sing.
Of pain and insecurity, a modern medieval tragedy.
A ballad...
               To bring...
                               bad things to grasp and cling,
                   to your forsaken spirit.
                               ... An awful thing.

Little Sparrow, you've fallen...
                 All the mighty do,
                                Like fruit gone rotten.
                 Intoxicated and broken,
                                A beautiful disaster has spoken,
With no rhyme or reason, your emptiness deepens.
The drinks…
                The drugs…
                                Form pretty lies on your tongue.
Your cursed Little Sparrow, in darkness and in shadow.
                It runs deep in our blood,
                                 a genic lasso.

Little Sparrow, know this...
               The flock will let you fall,
                                  Tis the way of the nest.
                So fail today and take a breath.
                                  For your soul will find no rest.