if it’s not one thing, it’s another.

Laying here, staring straight up at the ceiling
body, heavy like cement. Eyes frozen like ice.
Everything fades.
Starting with white in to grey, and grey into black.
when coloring comes through again
I appear to be at my funeral.
body still cement, and eyes still ice
I feel my body being put into the ground
No complaints though,
what’s the point of complaining
if you don’t want to do anything to change it.

lacunakittie

lacunakittie

I love writing and music.

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