They can never mend what they've lost. What a shame. Good poem. Choppy, but good. My dad's a mannequin. He stalks me while covered in feathers and holds a fishing pole in his hand. One question, is this one big giant metaphor?

I really like this, all of it. The gory language, the off-kilter, never-ending sentences, the slick line-breaks. The quality of your ideas is really amazing. Especially the end, the idea of the unspoken rule, that really kills me. Nice work.