I do not talk
For what would I be saying?
I lay there in the dirt
I wait
She told me
"It is not scary"
In her I trust
This is my fate
My blood seeps into trees
My veins flood with water
Bug by bug, by shroom, or rat
My bones are getting colder
Brown srands of hair
Warming up the nest for crows
Or mice, depends
On who will find it first
Two-chambered hearts
Green-seeing eyes -
They rent my ribs
And I survive
Her voice -
It echoes far and wide
"This is not death
You are alive"
Year:
2024
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