I am suspicious of graveyards
Manicured lawns and lively flowers
For the dead.
I am suspicious of the stuff
Who wear a smile planted on white teeth
While they gate-keep the dead.
It all must be a rouse,
After the burials, they undig the dead
To bury then with another body.
To save time
To save money
To save space for the dead.
I like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me.
© 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.