I would happily die in your arms

Setting a scene for melancholia

Bringing down the curtains over

Our lives.

I said to you after our last meal

That we should’ve travelled along the ridge

Of prosperity, living in a place where angels,

Walk the streets, where statues don’t get defaced.

But we chose here,

A place of lathered blood over the walls

A hotbed for unanswered questions to bloom.

Questions about love, questions about sanity.