when i think about you flowers grow out of my grave.

by WildChild

I was floating above my bed,
Like a body in a river, in car.
And the only sound in my head
was a dying cricket in a jar.
And I saw little beams of light
come into the bedroom,
from underneath the door.
And they crawled under my sheets,
and they came out of every single pore.

Andy Moore Photography

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