In the dark, the dust motes danced in silence as the clock ticked-tocked
and the moon closed its eyelids to what had been. Now a shallow shudder
lay me down to sleep as I pull me chin up to my cheeks of chipped flesh
and bone with the left hand of sod covering my phantom’s insanity
with the smooth curve of the shovel’s neck.
Rated for Teens(13+)
Shovel’s Neck
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