r.i.p

morbid. it dug in.
like a cancer
some might say.

yet it never started off small.
it was always something worth working at.
what was i to do
but dig
when the shovel
was so strategically stitched
between my fingers.

so there i lay myself to rest
in the sallow sunken ground
hollowed out like a holding place
for a coffin.

and here i will wait,
until you hand me my tombstone.