iEchora

There is a cemetery growing in my soul A plot of earth where I bury trust And names that decompose on my tongue An endless labyrinth of catacombs Where I am swallowed whole by grief and self-pity An infinite mantle lined with ash-filled urns Concealing the remnants of regretful nights and Love-strewn days set aflame by lust and pride I’ve spent every day since you left Digging your grave into perfection shoveling it out bit by bit Some days, I throw some dirt back in pack it into the side as if the wall of soil isn’t sturdy enough to fill back up again I am not prepared to bury you, but when I do I will not return to my grave-