my knees are stained
dyed from soil
scratched with thorns
graves of those who went too soon
babies whose cradles became caskets
fathers and mothers who smoked one too many cigarettes
no one thought that little boy’s nightlight would become so literal
/when did life become this/
with chains made of dead flowers
dust covering my eyelashes
these people are no longer able to simply be
and that can’t come from god
the moonlight pierces my skin with its sharp crescent
the stars slicing my pride
i lay down on this grave
allowing god to see the worn vessel
traveled too much
made too many mistakes
mistakes that shouldn’t have happened
mistakes i tell people didn’t happen
malignancy
but im still here
in the ******* cemetery
shoving my hands into the dirt
coating my nails with blood and death
hoping ill eventually find a heartbeat
and when i don’t
i look up to the sky
make a noose out of galactic chains
hoping the interstellar sacrifice will be right all those wronged
because that cant come from god
right?