unbury yourself

There is a graveyard of untold stories in your mouth. Coffins made

from closets lined with secrets and stale air. Days like these,

the whole city smells like gasoline. Ignorant remarks fill the
air with smog. Here’s a poem telling you I’m tired of it.

Pollution like this kills everything green, everything different,
everything worth growing. I hope you don’t die before you

get a chance to

unbury
yourself.

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