The Cemetery

The cemetery was an eerie call of what was my pass. Lying in a coffin, seeing the dirt creep its way threw the faulty wood, which has fallen under pressure from the dirt. Days and months all seemed in relevant not knowing if you’re alive or dead. I could spot the sun rays, creeping over the arisen. Where was I to go now that I have escaped the grasps of death? Alone in the world, no one to see, for they will never understand the situation that I was in. The silence crept among my presence; the wind was silent then ever. A chill left me to wonder, why I was chosen to walk among the living.

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