The Box

Six feet long, two feet wide is the box in which she now resides

no longer breathing, nothing but pain she left behind.

bruises on her face, arms and chest. abused in life and cant rest in death.

There is no answer she can give, "Why?" now means nothing, just an empty attempt, a wasted breath that falls on the deaf ears of death

I peer into her resting place, gaze upon her cold stone face. Now its the crypt that takes her away, this time it's not her choice to leave, not her choice to stay away. Maybe its just a nightmare, maybe a show for scare. If this is the end, no closure will I find, just another reason look away from a blank stare.

Close the lid, say goodbye, shut out the voices from the past, grow cold inside, let that part of you die, let go of the lies. The tears that surface will be choked back. Numb to emotion, let no one know what you feel, show nothing of what goes underground.

She's not the only one buried that day, it is a double occupancy tomb. For when you closed that lid, when that dirt you moved, you buried the last piece of childhood, innocence and hope that survived in you.