embroidery of the obsidian
swayed through her, they said.
tainting her every ounce, they said.
the path she walked through denied the dim.

in thousands of hues,
of diminished ivory and ink,
she stained herself with the blooming terror.
the vines surpassing her life loosened, quite the contrast.
with a few heaving breaths
and churn of dark days,
her vision dropped,
'maybe the last of all' she smiled.

the night seemed lovely,
her eyes raked onto the moon.
the dusk possessed her since the beginning,
gave the strangling peace she yearned for.
took the life she did not wish to live.
— luce.

this one is a little bit complex to understand the actual context. which is why, i am leaving this on you guys to figure out.

this poem does NOT promote suicide. it rather focuses on the multiple aspects of the dark days from a different perspective. i hope you enjoy reading this piece. oh, i wrote this one for black day :⟩