RING A RING A ROSIE

Ring a ring a rosie,

whispers turn to dust,

one by one, they fade away—.

we do what we must.

Pocket full of echoes,

laughter laced in dread,

holding hands through empty rooms,

bound by threads of red.

Ashes, ashes—

we watch them fall,

fingers slipping softly,

no strength left to call.

And we all fall down,

one breath at a time,

the circle grows smaller,

a twisted nursery rhyme.

Two of us are left here,

grasping what remains,

hands entwined in silence,

chilled beneath the rains.

Ring a ring a rosie,

a game that never ends,

we wait for the last breath,

and pray it feels like friends.

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