can you hear them?
the dead....
their cold fingers
playing with your hair.
The silent things crunching
in the leaves.
things whisper from down below
and watch you before you go.
The dead roam these woods
I know you hear them.....

Skeletal fingers grip an oblong stone
Cords of tendon thin muscles stiffen
A jaw set with determination
Eyes glassy and feverish

Another chuckles, circling like a carrion crow
It grips their lover's hand warmly
And sighs down at the starving man
“you'll never squeeze any blood from that dry stone”

The words uttered, shatter his resolve
He curls into that common dying pose
And waits for mercy's final blessing.

I will no longer allow you to **** on me
And tell me it’s raining