Poetry · Writing

Kicking Dust

rapture and unload-

finger to hives

will dress to the nines

attend our own funerals-

say our best wishes-

know the person laying before is never the one wearing death in his eyes

never looking back

featured on our tats

still have marks to leave

not enough to settle

brake eye contact-

leave yourself to the dust

brushing off the old

stepped off the casket

never felt the cold breathe under the heels of yesterday

and the sun never felt so fresh.

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