Dig dig dig dig.
clawing at the ground,
tearing up the soil trying to look for something
hidden below the surface.
brain not thinking clearly;
body just moving;
arms flailing around
going crazy
as if the ground were the enemy.
soil flying in the air
as my nails are filled
with dirt
from scratching ferociously
at the ground.
i stop and start panting,
thinking of what i was just doing.
looking for something that is 6 feet under.
a dead body in a golden casket
that i long to get back
and make the body live again.
sitting there as i start to realize
that the body is dead and gone,
and it wont be coming back.
been digging for years
but never realized til now
that these hands will never do the trick
of digging six feet under.
get angry and stomp it down another two feet
and make it now impossible to reach;
now eight feet under.
take those deep breaths and realize
the old me is never coming back.
she's dead in the golden casket
that represented how life used to be
and now she's here,
worn out and dried out of love,
living in a dull and tarnished body
that's trying to get life back again,
but this thick skull needs to stop repelling the harsh fact
that she is dead and gone.
she's never coming back.
