Coffin
The inside cushioned with fabric and drops of a life I will never have back.
The sides firm,
birch
Scratched from the nails that hung to the finger tips of a mother screaming for her lost child
screaming for one she never knew
I was put in a church.
My face exposed to the candle light
And air swallowed by people telling the same thousand year old lies.
Apparently I have sinned.
Disrespected a god that of which I have never claimed to have any past tense affliction with
I've beat their god at his own dammed game.
But there's no praise for winning a game no one gave you consent to play in.
My best friend shows up at the very end
clings to the back of the room
He knew.
He knew.
When the tears fall from his eyes like paint chipped from a rusted plane,
and his head doesn't move
He,
Being the kind of person whose forte is crying silently,
His grievance goes unnoticed amongst those that claimed to have cared,
Yet
didn't know my birthday
But my death day,
of course,
will ring in all of their memories
Until someone more important to them..
bites, the, bullet.
Swallowing a bottle of pain relievers
and creating a room
of affiliated grievers.
And I go back to thinking,
How long will it take?
Till the flowers rot
My headstone settles
And my mom
stops blaming the dog?
YOU ARE READING
Acts of Rain ||a collection of poetry|| #Wattys2016
Puisi((Look at how dramatic past me kinda made this description)) //older poems are kinda shit// Same old empty feelings. So I've tried writing poetry now.. Mostly more on the sad side, but I am not you, the reader, and pain and beauty are viewed diff...
