This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Oxford Emory chapter.
The air viscous, sizzling with strife.
Heads turn,
Mouths fire,
A tussle breaks bad blood
Stains.
The prelude long gone,
Wavering,
Sinking,
Fallen out of grace,
We rot,
Engulfed by maggots we birth.
Like predecessors
Warring stale passages never to elapse,
Glares and talons pierce in flight.
The sky crimson
Reflects no shine.
When all is done,
Scars line our blistering signs.
Two breaths
Held close,
Coarse and dry.
I cry.
You crumble.
Two breaths
Untie.
Between your lips,
My fingers,
Our feathers fly.