We pay for dog bones, with human bones.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Little abstract. Read into it as little or as much as you want.

Submitted: June 06, 2007

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Submitted: June 06, 2007

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I awake in blackness.

I can't tell if it is

warm or cold.

Am I facing up,

or down?

Am I laying,

or sitting,

or standing?

Am I?

Am I?

Am I?

I suffer

then die

then I am born as a

plant

then I am eaten

and my

soul

becomes a

dog's bark or

a hot breath or

the energy it takes to lift a remote...

I become insignificant

yet with more purpose

then I have now.

If it isn't too late to choose,

I'de like to come back as

a mountain.


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