i was dying on the rock they chained me to, but they made sure i couldn't, and the bird came again and tore me in two...i hate that bird

they were right, of course, i deserved this, and more for what i done...fire, like government, is a fearful servant and a dangerous master or some such, fire from heaven...i wonder if birds ever eat cooked meat, i think i'd like to know what i taste like cooked...i think i'll ask that bird when he comes tomorrow

the sun is hot and the wind has chapped my lips again and though the sea is right there i get no comfort from the waves or the spray, there is only glare today, no joy, no beauty, only blinding endless stabbing light, until the bird comes and then there will be no blinding stabbing light but blinding pain and stabbing beak and me gnashing my teeth and trying, in vain, to bite his neck or his wing or his gizzard

at night there are something like 6398 or 6407 stars i can see with my eye, i lose track sometimes, and some stars fade in and out depending on my concentration...they made sure i couldn't sleep, either, with the way they fastened the chains, always bent back slightly, hovering over that jagged, wind and wave torn rock, once smooth, perhaps, but now a hundred knives eager to drink my blood...i suppose the calluses will form soon enough...or scars

the bird just left for the day, no gizzard left, i guess, and i think i'm getting used to the pain, or maybe i've learned to block it out, i don't know, still hurts something fierce...if i had fire i could burn it, cauterize it, and i'd smell cooked flesh and the burn would probably be worse than the open wound...it usually heals around twilight, with the moon marching up out of the sea, proud and glowing, showing off her hazy glory, possibly for me alone, i dare to believe, she tempts me with her song and sometimes i sing along, my head to one side, resting on my shoulder, singing softly while she rises...she betrays later, though, when her light turns cold and the stars bore into my flesh with their sharp pricks, their stinging needle lights that make my flesh crawl...i wish the bird would eat them too

he didn't mind so much that they knew the seasons, or healing, or any of the other things i gave them, even all together their offense he tolerated, but i kept pushing the limits, kept giving them more...they are fragile and need our help i told him, but he wanted them to die, he had plans that did not involve men and i could not stand to see them suffer...his eagle has a weakness, i think it craves my cries now, for it seems to me to brood when i bite my tongue instead of crying out...i hate that bird