wings on floor

wings, black scattered on the wet floor standing apart.
feet firmly on the ground, eyes staring forward.
tears all over the salty face, starting to shake up and screaming for the world to fall apart over him.
kneeling down, he promises to return when he can, but he cannot part. wet wings and slow limbs do not make a good sum.
bye kid. cut the wings, they no longer serve me any good.