dearly departed

on whispering words weeping in the dust

won’t you take my hand?

why hone my sharpest edges for a softer victory; 

when I’m only a letter burning; 

blood black as coffee left too long on the tongue; 

slightly opened, rusting yet not read.

pressed upon rose lips,

guided by gentle hands,

plucking at the mercy of dawn,

departing, their last stand.

two breaths once collided;

caressing in their wreckage;

steeping the morning with scorching sorrows and sighs;

God, the storm together they brewed;

rose dark and thick in our chests.

thorned our hearts draw crimson,

trickling slowly from bodies once bright,

now dying like embers flames,

only desolation left from this scorched site.

only madness poured would brim this over;

predation would inherit my appetite;

I let the consumption of your chaos claim my courage;

until every vein of mine ran stained.

---

a collab by ش | 𝒮. and Malik