Dirge

Every battle ends. Dust settles, and every war machine shall rust. And so I won't pretend, for now I must displace my trust despite your warming light, much like that upon a lonely meadow. As my heart subtly trembles, the faintest chills caress my ears. My chest ceases its wheezing and gnarly beasts writhe far and near. I awaken. I feel my pulses' deepening beat. I open up the blinds to see soft snow fall to the street. Only shadows beside me slate this shell of vacancy. Alone, I keep surviving and let go of floating dreams.