What should have been
a season of contentment
shattered
by your bitter
cold
hard
hands
They tried to dig up
the ground
to bury me in,
but you found only your own
skeletons
You’ve made you own
six
foot
deep
bed that you can lay down in
with the blanket of lies
you made from
self-woven
tangled
webs.
I can hear the wind
laughing
as you try to throw dirt
at me
but gravity and Karma are
friends
your slung mud
fall right back to Earth
every
single
time.
until you’ve buried
yourself
Revenge is not best served cold
it is best served in the fall
from your own
shovel
when the leaves
parade their colors
like confetti
even the earth
is
celebrating.
About the Creator
Ellie Hoovs
Breathing life into the lost and broken. Writes to mend what fire couldn't destroy. Poetry stitched from ashes, longing, and stubborn hope.
My Poetry Collection DEMORTALIZING is out now!!!: https://a.co/d/5fqwmEb
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