Things that Crawl

/ Prose and Poetry / By

The bones of those who died before you

The bones of those who died before you

They’re scattered all around me…

Dark and soggy, twisted, muddied, round

I can still feel the grip of your hand

Even as I fell into this well

This deep empty hole

With centipedes and spiders

And all the things that crawl

The bones of those who died before you

They’re scattered all around me

They form a ray of black light

Dark and soggy, twisted, muddied, round

Why did you let go

I scream at the top of my lungs

I do this every night

With all these things that crawl

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