Biography of an ornithologist

How can it be possible
I'd like you to pretend
That we never had phone sex
While I whispered words of love
You stared at her Instagram filters
So I brought a pack of six from the shop
Stainless glass masterpieces
Decorated with roses and thorns
Cost me money and what for?
To lean over a cliff and throw them
Wasting life
Screaming into my father's voice
As the clouds rolled over
Mother was already buried
Six feet under she rolls in her grave
I think a glass shard hit a pigeon
Named him sunshine after you
Because sometimes
His eyes too look dark blue
Blacker than any clothes I own
Dressed up for my own funeral
I jumped off the cliff after him
Like how you jumped into my fist
Oh how I cradled and cradled him
Disappointment sticking out his vein
I used the same thing that killed us
To drive myself insane
Lay holding a murdered crow
Broken legs because I
Can't kill myself properly
I feel so incomplete
Why won't anyone help me
Illegally blind to the
bone in my left eye
We, as dead birds flew away into the sunrise