graveyard shift. (a poem)

My superstitions are unable to last ‘cause I can’t hold my breath any longer. There is no quickened pace, there is no passing by. I’m interred in a cemetery of brown hashtags. I’ve been shoved into a reeking sepulcher. The rot of piles upon piles of strange fruit seeps into my pores. Above me circle… Continue reading graveyard shift. (a poem)

Categorized as Poetry