the wake
grief hits the back of
my throat like a bullet.
oh god, what do I do
with this body?
no one teaches you
how to bury yourself,
no one tells you what
to say at your own funeral.
© the inkwell poetry
my throat like a bullet.
oh god, what do I do
with this body?
no one teaches you
how to bury yourself,
no one tells you what
to say at your own funeral.
© the inkwell poetry