Birdsong continues to go through his late daughter Krystal’s effects. Krystal passed away in September of 2008. She left several journals containing poems and musings she wrote over the years. As I read them I wonder what was on her mind. Birdsong wishes to share this one with the world.
The piece of my soul cut out withers where it stands. Young boys run free in a land of their own. Bodies still trembling with the face of fear on their mind look anxiously toward the sun.
Hairs back and forth like anemone swim entangled with lust, hate, and a rose. No one knows where it lies — no one knows where it…
Yes, that very same cold blue gunshot rings. Yes, the one they spoke of that incestuous summer day. Cold. Blood. Fuck, Cold. Vomit. Fuck.
You make me die each time you come. Bearing gifts of you Savior the Lord. Why burn me again when love is so close to blossoming? right now (Right then). Let me guess: it is to salvaage your lost way, your lost freedom, my death. Just know that I still want you happy, though I made you turn black (red). Red.
Krystal Birdsong 3/3/00