A Cry For Help

If you're listening, this is my cry for help.

If you're listening, then why won't you stop?

How many days? How many minutes until we're forgotten?

All those thin trails of glass-like skin, gone. Our webbed feet will never again mark patterns in the sky.

How long until we're lost beneath the trees, beneath the winking stars.

When we cry, you don't hear us.

When we call, you don't notice.

What are we to you?

Do you even care?