ꨄ 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑ꨄ

Rue

Rues, rusted by the remnants of my rotten luxury.
Rues, ragged on the blood of broken-winged birds.
Rues, they do invest my hands with its reeking stench.
Then shall graveyards be flustered by their yellow stain,
for their lovely petals in my wilting garden
has crafted a well of my own tears-
and down in its depths,
I shall drown
forever.