mother, i have spent my life sleeping on
our hard couch. i won’t really mind if you
can’t afford me a coffin.
you can just throw my body somewhere,
or feed me to the wild maybe.
i will forgive you.
you really don’t have to
give me a proper burial, for it’s fine if
you will dig in a random lot like a
serial killer hiding the traces of his crime,
and bury me there.
don’t be terrified by these words, mother.
i am just telling you to not stress yourself
if i died in your arms,
because i’m not expecting for a grand
funeral.
YOU ARE READING
Found This Book Somewhere In The Forest
Poetry"Talk to my soul later midnight, when the moon's at its peak. That's the only way of communication that I know, because my physical lips will stutter if I told you about how I want to tear my human skin apart and go out."
