The Fallen, memories of Sasson

The written air of a grey-blue sky,

sinking out from the ground and into my mouth

Stopping my heart as it yellows and dies,

Open to the breeze now

A gash red, harsh, clotted cut of strawberries and cream

Maggots which crawl onto a body

Is that a memory of you?

They told me nothing, cannot tell how you came to be this way; forgive me. I have not yet absolved your sin.

Invent a darkness for less black, less bleak, less pain.

You are the hue of rain, no colour, no sound, no breath, no scent, none needed, no call to you

You fall, lay out flat, clean, and cold. Now you are Fallen.