if you want to make wind whirls out of your grave, make them. bleed dust. groan lightning. exhale wildfires. if you want to seal off your pain or everything by making your grave a disaster, crack the damn fucking ground. make your grave a hurricane. a riot ground. rest in noise, in violence, heal that way. rest in whatever way your body knows.
how do you rest in peace if your body knows none?
| a poet that only knows only how to write sad poems. |