vi. FOR YOU.
i fear my words will fall into the depths only cemeteries can hold. arching gravestones falling apart enough where encrypted names of what used to be can no longer be read. i grow afraid in the night that i will run out of dead grass to dig up, that my words will push through their small coffins and float back home in a flood of tears only past memories could resurrect. i have become frightened over my own poetry, the sentences i have structured for you to read and finally feel alive.
maybe it's better off that way.
YOU ARE READING
what tomorrow brings.
Poetryxvii, april. (iii). you have no voice if no one is listening. © playlist poetry h.r. : #3