GloMag GloMagDecember2018 - Page 315

Sniffing their wistful goodbyes into a list of chores to be done I am afraid of the petulant fall of Autumn leaves Falling one by one painfully on my burdened box Freshly buried under the neglect of oxidizing dirt I am afraid of the loneliness of morbid silence With only me in a limpid body which echoes With the memories of warm blood That once gushed so enthusiastically Through the valves of my cochlear heart And supple maleable flesh moulded over firmness of chisled muscles I am afraid of the time when I will be neatly bundled as timelapsed Memory The address of my final cavern tucked into a fading receipt from the graveyard 315