mine are the old gods
who wander blackened streets and ruined cities
murmuring strains of song long long forgotten
a melody that the earth has not heard for ten thousand years
mine are the old gods
who possess stones and twigs and little else
who drink gutterwater from cupped hands
and dream of the ancient forests that died for this greying world
mine are the old gods
who breathe broken glass in the absence of air
it shreds their lungs, turns their throats bloody
they can't die. they want to. they can't.
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