Clinging on the ink that lies bereft,
my youth then wilts as its last chapter-
yet my hands had sought for the more-
as blood I bled to preserve it spilled-
onto yellowed parchment as dripping ink,
that merely blots the pleasance of
my gilded memories.
YOU ARE READING
ꨄ 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑ꨄ
PoetryLife and Death; Joy and Sorrow. They're just two wings to the same body.
