a collection of my own work

mo(u)rning

A/N: honestly i have writers block

🧸ෆ*｡◌ ‎ ⊹🕊

pairs of eyes around to linger

one small slip of the finger

a glint of the sun through the window pane

early, the great, solemn mourning dove is slain

no harmony, melody to sing

early to the morning ring

all grown wing never reborn

there a thick, metal thorn

weaves of chronicles

blood past skin follicles

devils will learn to suck from you

yet cool airs on the wound have blew

organism young is angel's delight

pure decency bound to high flight

but when they yell as i cant belt

an irreversible thing; the good has fell