Trust Me

It is not my intention
To make you
Nervous
Little bird
I didn't design
This hall of mirrors
That takes such a toll
On your migrating family
And friends

In fact
I'm the one
Stepping on heads
When they bounce off
With broken necks
Before the murder arrives

I suppose
That is hard to understand
And I certainly don't expect
Any gratitude

To you
We must all look the same