Birds Behind the Door

I hear their chirps, I out stretch my hand 

Small cold hands 

Motioning them to take mine in theirs 

They keep squawking

I glance at my door

I see their shadows

flickering angrily at little light under my door

Am I safe?

They're deaf, they're blind 

But only when it comes to me

For as anyone else is oh so sweet

I scream; I shout but there's no getting out

The squawking is superior

I plug my ears

I feel inferior

Would they care if I died? 

They wouldn't notice 

Since they're deaf, blind birds.