Shape
The hammers that my hands became
once reached so desperately to be held
I'm surprised they don't remember the shape,
that they've changed so much.
My mouth sang songs once.
My heart beat for everyone around me,
Bled
for everyone around me.
When the scavengers slink into
my tomb
will they cry?
Will they know nothing should be this bitter?
Copyright © AC Lawrence | Year Posted 2024
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