I feel the dirt and rocks hit my skin.
I feel the dirt around me turn to mud as the rain falls into the grave.
I can see them crying around me, looking at my white dress turn brown in the mud sticking to my lifeless limbs.
A flower is thrown down to me,
As if a flower will make my damnation easier to bear.
This thing of beauty will too fade like me, like my memory in their minds.
It will wither and die.
I can feel the dying process start. Its petals are slowly withering.
As it withers the days of death start to eat at me.
The worms and all the things that once lived in my are trying to escape this muddy prison.
"If I can't escape from this prison I'm going to take you with me" I shriek with my cracking voice, it's almost gone, it's just like that creaking in the night, the one that gives you a fright.
They cry and leave me flowers. I pity them, I really do, because they don't know that soon enough they will be trapped in the healing flesh of mother's wound too, who will cry for them when we are all gone?
YOU ARE READING
Within The Grave
PoetryThis poem is from the perspective of the dead girl and her opinion on all our traditions
