The Grave In Me

The demands of the dead.

Where a restless corpse carries on,

there’s an open grave inside me.

With a mouth full of worms,

it’s begging to be buried.

 

As it bumps against my innards,

whoever it is, is hurt.

With eyes like black beetles,

it’s demanding more and more dirt.

 

A vagrant shivering in the plot,

or killing time clawing and chewing.

Pounding left, right, dread and doom;

uneasy and full of suffering.

 

It keeps pleading for more Z’s.

But a heart at peace doesn’t beat.

The tomb simply cannot be sealed…

it’s nearly human and nearly me.

Reviews

[Ruth]

Cold, in a good way, dark, in a good way and unsettling! lol
Beautifully thought through xx

[KAREN]

Interesting poem! Deep and powerful! Love the last two parts!!