Decayed

We hold hands as we walk through the woods Rich with decay. The leaves crunch beneath heavy bodies. The smell of death follows us. We walk slowly, savoring the day For there is no use running. Our hands fall limply by our sides. What we once had in blooms is now rotting, The bittersweet vines have choked the flowers we grew. We are walking through this decaying forest, Walking to a grave. Hold my hand as we walk through this dead world, As the book falls shut. Give me a kiss before the fork in the river, Whisper lies to me, Say you’ll never leave. Walk me through this forest of endings, Then let me leave.