The Aftermath

My head hurts,

my eyes burn,

I'm trying, desperately,

to figure out why.

Why did Phineas have to die?

My mind isn't coming to terms

with the fact that he is gone.

"It didn't really happen," it seems to tell me.

"He's just down the street."

But he isn't, he's dead.

I'm sure that, in a few days' time,

I'll fully be affected

by the loss, the death, the absence

of our little Phineas.

This is about a little companion of mine that passed away a few months ago. I miss him like he was my own, though he was my cousin's. This poem wasn't revised, I just typed it out of my diary. I miss ya, little guy.

Signed,

My Parakeet Has Issues