Bitter secretion,
absolute secrecy
covers up
your body
into haze.
You still attempt
to stretch
your hollowed voice
towards a sunrise.
You still hope
to revive what’s left,
to be heard
from bruised lips.
To dream
of dying in reverse,
to reopen
your cold heart
to the heat
of reenvisioned life.
It’s agony
to see you walking
without weight.
It’s ceremony
to see you outlining
your form from blood.
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