I walk the line of grief until I fall

I walk the ambitious lines of laughter I wallow beneath the unsavory sky black. I could wait and explain the feeling of losing a home Or I could wait until I forget. Dirt beneath my bloody nails Sweat and blood in my fallen hair I bury my thoughts: Six stories down, six miles away, six feet deep. The shovel stands taller than me I am not hurt, I am not in pain My head feels heavy My heart feels empty I cannot stand or feel my legs. You whisper in my unwashed hair I feel it and I am realigned with care. I am outside in the cold far from my home I am where I buried them. Slowly, I drag the dirt away. The closer I get the more I can hear your whispers Mundane words become sacred A hope in my mind newly bloomed. I see it, a rock. Buried in a hole I hold it and feel your hands on my neck I hear the last things you said to me before you died I see the last times I saw of you before you died I plead but can barely muster a sound The story ends in my head It’s the same as the first time that I will never forget. It’s the death of my family, my home once again. Tree sap flows from my eyes It sticks to my heart, and it wrings it dry. I fall asleep in my prison of mud Tired, alone, afraid, without love. I walk home with shaky hands And try to find a way to forget So, I can do it all again. So, I can see your face undead.