As If There's More to Flesh Out

at the end again

this isn't the first time

won't be the last

cemeteries feel oddly nostalgic

as if i could call one home

one among decaying bodies and pretty flowers

watered by the tears of those who have lost more that i'll ever know

there is beauty here

unity and love are soaked into the roots of the trees that blanket the tombstones with shade in the summertime

years pass by

anger still accompanies my forgiveness

no longer confused

but mad i no longer have the opportunity to be annoyed

part of me will always be missing