The Boneyard

Weird Poetry

*** I wrote this when I was ill and highly anxious. I thought I would stop breathing while sleeping for some reason. I started to panic. Feeling better now. It is not really fun or sweet or sexy. It might be a tad unsettling. Yup. ***


She stood in the middle of a slumbering boneyard,

Furnished with crumbling headstones

And a barren tree with branches like ribs

That held the still and silent air at bay,

Just out of reach of her gasping lungs.

She coughed and coughed,

And she spat crimson and onyx onto the permafrost.

Again. And again…,

Painting the hallowed grounds with unspoken pleas for purchase on the air.

If only she could pull in one single breath

And fill her chest with something

Other than the nothing

And the countless unturned rocks studding her slow-beating heart.