This one is for the bones.

Sitting here on the bones

Hollow eyes blankly stare

Though mindless they seem to be

Their restless thoughts fill the air.

 

Lying here amongst the bones

I hear the chatter, of their porcelain skin

Though in here I'm all alone

I believe I am more or less

Though I hear at least

The clamoring of little feet

Within the darkness ahead of me.

 

I think it may perhaps be the bones

Speaking softly

 Silent whispering

Muffled sounds through covered bandages.

Helpless cries of mumbled torment pleading…

 

 But they are only bones

Staring with hollow eyes

Inside...

 Worms and maggots writhe

That clatter, pitter patter tiny skeletal feet

Into the night.

           J.L Hunter

                                    (This one is for the bones)