Among The Graves I walk
From the graves I walk, my skin taught, the crows high and the skies bleak.
My eyes are weary and so be my heart.
The tombs at my feet scream, they plead for me.
But I see, nor feel no need to listen.
I have contemplated the end and its desire for me.
I shed my arms like a tree to the wind.
Leave me burdened with no limbs to hoist the heavy weight.
Weigh me heavy upon these rotted soils and let me sink.
Let me think of all the wretched things I have done, I have become.
I wish for no more than to be the feast of crows.
For at least, they will have a purpose for my death, my life.
There is only stillness in the breath I take.
I am walking in the slumber of my head, numb.
Count the feathers as they fall, for each is of something I have never told.
Buried, my tears are quiet.
I look to the sky through the noxious vapors of my voice.
What do I see, but the empty toils of what is not to come.
My body meager in the urge to press forward.
The swamps of the cemetery have become bold.
I, have become but a tattered soul receding to the lush emptiness that seeps into my chest.
Now I am foul, even in tongue, let me be.
I rather be flesh upon a grey canvass, than color upon darkness.
I am but a blade of grass in the process of this.
I will wither with cold seasons and become arid in the sun.
For where I walk does not descend the waters of life.
It is but a dismal place where many like myself, see only ourselves.
We mumble behind out teeth allowing none to understand us.
We are slumped in our posture,
Plunging toward the bowels of the vacant as we crawl in the evacuated bile of the decaying.
I am a fungus of my veins and only a fool would place me upon their meal.
For I bring no flavor and am poison of sorts.
Let the graves take me in,
And let the hollow wreaths of the rotted spring from my mouth.
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More mind tingling words to me ingested in, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words
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