Ballad of a Dying Girl [✔]

4.

it feels like i'm burying myself sometimes,

eyeing the remains of my life hollowly,

like i have waned into little more than a shadow,

one cast by a permanent moon 

(i am less permanent, know nothing of permanence).

the pungent scent of soil stabs at my essence,

stains my fingertips brown,

and finds its way underneath my fingernails.

it is inescapable, this.

i know this, distantly,

but the urge to flee, to run, and to scream never truly ebbs.

i am still taut with an adrenaline that never seems to fade,

even now.

that is me, i think lifelessly.

in an unmarked grave.

my dreams, anyway,

all unfulfilled and disregarded.

i should collapse,

my knees should become puddy,

but my legs stand strong.

i am someone else now,

and burying myself -

well.

i tell myself it's for safe keeping, 

that i'll be back to dig her up later,

this girl i no longer recognize,

these dreams i no longer cherish,

but the promise is an empty one

(like most promises are these days).

i focus instead on flattening the earth,

on becoming the moon's child,

so that my shadow becomes stronger,

more tangible and real,

until eventually i become a real girl again.

i do not mark the grave,

for i feel that is poor form,

bad luck,

and i might die if i do that.

for later, i insist.

i'll come back to unbury myself later.

i turn my back to the moon,

feel it blaze through my soul,

and step over the dirty tomb.