funeral pyre

In my room there are earrings unworn, they
are shaped like birds, blue and
unassuming of the skyless plain they
go about unsinging

There are two letters in a pile that
I no longer reach for, more
often than not they are an unopen case,
words i have yet to resurrect

Instead, let them be smothered by the dust of
uncleansing - somehow, engulfed in a fire's
grave. I have burned once and will again and
I will leave the wrath for inertia to break

In this friendship is a funeral pyre and
here I will lay it be.