deepundergroundpoetry.com
No mothers live here
Behind closed doors, I am
my skin
my rotten skin
my corpse
I am
a graveyard
I sleep with dust
I eat it
I revel in it
ghostly children litter our home.
my skin
my rotten skin
my corpse
I am
a graveyard
I sleep with dust
I eat it
I revel in it
ghostly children litter our home.
Published 7th Sep 2017
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7th Sep 2017 9:17am
quite darker than you normally go;
to know a poem's voice, ask the dust...
to know a poem's voice, ask the dust...
8th Sep 2017 00:30am
It very much is. I didn't see a way out, at the time, and this came from that.
Anonymous
20th Sep 2017 1:02pm
This is so ghastly obscured, as always you outdo yourself, dear.
20th Sep 2017 5:34pm
