Trauma
Placing flowers down.
I turn around and see a bony hand rise from her grave.
And take them.
The monster.
Underground.
They all live and dance.
Flowers. Gone.
A sensation.
Of rising.
The feeling gets caught under my shirt collar.
A helicopter flies overhead and ignores my cries.
I breathe.
I am unsteady.
Like a college student who failed school, and got kicked out of their house, and everything caught fire.
I breathe.
Next week.
I will bring more flowers.
For no reason at all.
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