𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

Your Ashes

I watched your body burn,

your flesh reduced to the ash of arson.

I wish you'd learn,

but it's no use now. What's done is done.

From running, you fell—now, you rot in hell.

Your corpse will burn endlessly,

and your screams will grow strained and messy.

With a sharp dagger, I skinned the remnants of your face,

each motion deliberate, an unholy embrace.

I knelt, but not as a form of respect,

because I'm the one who lit it direct.

I'll keep your skull, a reminder of how pretty you were.

My most prized possession in the world I know.

I let you burn—and I'm sorry for that,

but what's done is done, and this truth remains intact.