#voidcore
it comes earlier each year
the yearly ritual of unbecoming
the sun going red
and the birds circling in the sky
they have come to pick you clean
something passes by your garden
as twilight sets in
and compliments how your roses have grown so well
you thank them
you do not mention the bodies
that make the flowers grow so well
as the sun hits it’s zenith
droning fans pierce the otherwise silent atmosphere
the usual screams that come from beyond the fence
are easier to ignore
we held on too hard
now we’re bleeding out on your bedroom floor
there’s something so intimate about this moment
a moment of quiet in which all secrets pass between