Well

 

That circle of light,

like the moon up above.

Remembering

what you thought of as love.

It all came crashing,

rushing through your mind,

now the memories are so hard to find.

 

The slow echoing drip,

cold hands that grip.

Seeping into your skin,

Sleeping and weeping

Caked-in years of dirt and grime

in this hole with no time.

 

The walls slimy and damp.

The light of the moon

in these confines so cramped.

The ache of your neck,

twisted and cracked.

The small of your back.

Broken on impact.

 

Drip, Drip, Drip.

The slow passage of time,

like the waters that fill this tomb.

Dripping slowly past you.

It's cold.

So cold.

Bones old, broken.

Body crumpled

in a way it isn't meant to fold.

 

That circle of light,

so far up above.

Not the moon,

but the place you were shoved.

Where you breathed your last breath.

This well

that is filled

with the rancid stench of death.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

please check out my new book "In Shadows"

https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff 

 

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle