raw
the wounds are fresh
and our words still salt them
i feel so many things
all of these emotions
as i stumble through the graveyard
and search for my own skull.
I find it, pick it up.
“Alas, Poor Yorrick!” I knew thee well.
And what now?
As I stare, menacingly
into the face:
unjustified bones
who is this, this girl?!
so happy, fragile, empty.
I did not know thee well
You are merely an acquaintance
the face of a past
that I strive to froget
“To be or not to be”
that has made all the difference.