the vines grow over corpses forgotten. thorn bushes carrying tears of the nameless. dead roses cascading to dry soil as fast as memories are erased, forever lost. vines tangled in the emptiness of ringing silence.
rotting away alone in the nothingness that is left for us when last breaths are taken and the holy name is whispered into pressed palms on knees that do not believe.
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yesterday's news.
Poetryxviii, april. (iv). gravestones as empty as the bodies buried beneath them. © playlist poetry
