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Rated: · Other · Death · #1918566
A short poem

Bones that talk.



It’s dark where I lay beneath the ground and yet the earth still moves around

I’m cold and still no breath shall stir in me or her.

The bones are fragile hard and soft only a tapping breaks the top.

Smell of darkness dank and dirty bones infuse me but they don’t hurt me.

The silent whispers cant control me the bones that hurt me don’t inspire me.

I can’t get out this shallow darkness buried and troubled they ach and moan.

Till the pain is silent and shares no sorrow bones that talk until I immerse you.

Bones that are broken and weep like tear drops bones that talk and I cant hear them.

Let me rest and feel no remorse let me lie and feel no death.

Separated and buried in a pile of confusion my bones talk even though I am dead.

I forget that sometimes because it’s all in my head.

The bones that tap and draw an exclusion the bones of my body that have no emotion the life separated and can no longer live those bones are still and dead and have no emotion .

I speak no more leave me in peace the bones that talk are now deceased

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