MY SKULL IS A BURIAL GROUND

 

Somewhere in the dank forgotten

There are things the worms

Are too afraid to digest yet,

Things that didn’t deserve a gravestone.

Every day is a haunting

 

I don’t know how to love the ghosts

That cling to my ribcage,

And leave nightly kisses

With their nail-biting lips:

Crescent moon gifts

Bouquets of bruises.

The shadows have fingers

Bent backwards into prayers

I think I’m supposed to answer.

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5 thoughts on “MY SKULL IS A BURIAL GROUND

      1. I’ve had poems and stories published in webzines and paper magazines. I really think you’ve got something. Why not? Of course you have to be patient and be ready for tumbleweed blowing and hearing nothing. And redraft your work a few times. I think it’s very good. I’ll take another look today : )

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