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The grate is cold now
and ashes litter blackly
So insubstantial
a breath scatters and crumbles
what’s left of the letters
I’ve put to the flame

Liars, they remained
after love had consumed all matter,
until mere angry smoulderings remained
and then went cold.

But I gave them to the flame
the lying heat
the funeral pyre
And your old words turn to ash
Dead like our love
Dry as our hearts
Your letters lie dead with our love
in the grate.


(©chaos girl)