soil

Just a poem.

nails don't grow when you're six feet below
it just looks that way, from the finger decay,
bones clutching remnants of deathbed bouquet
buried alive without a bell on your grave
all alone with the flowers they gave
eyes sunk in, bitemarks on skin
come back and she wonders where you've been

Reviews

[CLUTZ]

i don't normally use this word but "lovely" i like it.