The Fourth Stage of Grief

Loose my only lunch.

Fill my face with shit

Fish inside my head

Hope the truth comes out my throat.
I'm sinking in my cherry boat.


Race myself.

Be a good man.

Dust that shelf.

Hope the book will crush me flat.
I don't think it will come to that.



Poetry by weirdzarun
Read 498 times
Written on 2009-02-21 at 07:26

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Kathy Lockhart
i identify with this Michael. I feel it and know it. Kathy
2009-02-21