#corbies!

chinhands, makes this face:

There's a crow in your chest where your heart should be. I can hear it sometimes, the flutter of its wings, How it scrapes, restless, against your ribs. Sometimes when you speak you sound hoarse and harshened And I think that maybe that's the crow, cawing - Tok, caws the crow, tok-tok-tok, and Time says tick-tock, tick-tock, And passes. There's a lump of bird where your heart should be; Your blood is clogged with thick black feathers. I hum lullabies against your skin, and hope that it sleeps.