Standing on the cotton shores,
staring at the sea of dark glass,
I watch your lungs fill with shards
as you breathe in the heartless
obsidian. The black smoke grays
the white sky, filling the frozen air;
its ash and black
choke the crows
silhouettes of clouds.
You are dead skin to me;
something to be shed
and to be forever forgotten
about because you’ll fade away
like all my other former-selves
drowning in the sea of obsidian.