Vesuvius
Under layers of grief hide skinny wrists like they used to be–
The version of myself lost somewhere between July and January.
Preserved by the vesuvian eruption's careful layer of black.
They say that nobody knew until it was too late.
I was already neck deep in lava.
The End
RATE THIS CHAPTER!
Please login to rate this chapter!
NO COMMENTS ABOUT THIS POEM Feed
No comments have been posted yet.
THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Vesuvius, which
was posted on Jul 17, 2011 by
Juliia.
This is a solo poem.
Some rights reserved.
This poem is filed under:
Spoken Word
POST A COMMENT
Wanna say something? Make yourself heard!
We reserve the right to delete spam, flames, or other nasty stuff.