A cold breeze brushes past my me,
Sending shivers down my spine.
"Someone walked over your grave," I'm told.
So where is this grave?
I'm dead already, inside.
Where can I rest the empty shell
I exist as now?
I'm sure there's a headstone somewhere,
Naming me as the boy who had everything,
But who really had nothing.
There must be some sort of recognition..
Someone out there MUST know,
Even if they dont care.
A clue, a hint, a whisper of a happiness
Now gone forever.
Lost in the cold winds of November.
Mourn the days of yesteryear,
Days that can never be regained.
Days that remain eternally buried.
Buried in the lost tomb that I call
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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack
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