Grave

I’ve had the strongest urge to return, to crawl back under, the earth. I’ll wrap myself in her blanket of soil, mimicking the warmth I’ve been trying to create with you when you’re lodged between my limbs. I’ll shed this skin, fragile and overused; I’ll bare myself to her knowing she won’t judge me for the things I hate to do with you. I’ll sink deep into her crust; her roots embracing me with the same force you apply to my throat when you like to watch me go blue. Swallowing wildflowers and coughing up poppy seeds will never compare to the no’s I gulped down and the cries I choked back. She’ll lull me to sleep, a mother’s cradle; not cold and rigid like gasping in your clutch. In this slumber, I’ll finally be free. Do not come to find me, for I’ve sunken, hidden in her core, where even you can’t see. Please, do not search for me, I do not want to be found. I just want to sleep, six-feet under the ground.

Photograph by @yp8135