Across my skin
Waves in a troubled sea

Someone walked
Across my grave
In my soul I
Know it was me

Caught in my throat
Fly in a spider’s trap

Sweat crawls
Across my skin
In my veins my
Blood runs cold

Raspy and ragged
Shovel in gritty soil

Muscles stretch
Under my skin
Work barely begun
The night is yet young

Cold dark breeze
Whispering in the leaves

Shadows dance
As demons laugh
They creep closer but
I don’t belong to them yet

Lone bright eye
Drifting searching, never finding

Shovel bites
Into the earth
One metal tooth bites
More than it can chew

Race across the sky
No desire to say goodbye

Time stands still
Nothing changes
Time flies by
The end is near

Burn under my skin
Coals smolder under ashes

Black night
Moon has set
Black heart
Mind is numb

Weep and mourn
Victims of my darkest sin

No going back
My words have been said
No going back
My song has been sung
No going back
My deeds have been done
No going back
My grave has been dug


Despite my poems morbid, end of the line subject matter, it seems I haven’t given up on this blog. I haven’t been writing much at all lately, or doing much of anything that resembles anything creative.

But last night, a random thought pops into my head, an image that compared shivers to the waves on an ocean. Of course I ended up writing about someone digging their own grave.

Well, since I’m not giving up, I might as well see if I can manage not to leave several months between posts…

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