Grave thoughts

It was ironic, really

That she dug the very grave

she would lay them to rest in.

They had trampled her

with the weight of an elephant stampede.

Leaving her to die in misery and bitter hopelessness.

Choking out every bit of sense and sensitivity she had about her.

Including the parts that made her fiercely intriguing and nurturing.

(Arguably, the best parts.)

She buried them alive.

Covering them in heavy, cold dirt and darkness

like they had done to her. With not a single care

that burying things doesn’t always kill them.

Sometimes it gives them new life. New tenacity

to tackle what they didn’t take down before.