This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Oxford Emory chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.
The air viscous, sizzling with strife.Â
Heads turn,Â
Mouths fire,
A tussle breaks bad bloodÂ
Stains.Â
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The prelude long gone,Â
Wavering,Â
Sinking,Â
Fallen out of grace,
We rot,
Engulfed by maggots we birth.Â
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Like predecessorsÂ
Warring stale passages never to elapse,Â
Glares and talons pierce in flight.Â
The sky crimsonÂ
Reflects no shine.Â
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When all is done,
Scars line our blistering signs.
Two breaths
Held close,
Coarse and dry.Â
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I cry.
You crumble.Â
Two breaths
Untie.Â
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Between your lips,
My fingers,
Our feathers fly.Â
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