Driving pass the graveyard. Squinting through the window, gazing into the cemetery. Dying to see if I can see any free spirits dancing around their graves. But all I seem to see is my own reflection.
I recently thought about a traumatic experience in 5th grade when they found a dead body in the cafeteria vent. So I wrote this poem about it. This is like an untold narrative about him. It also sort of is a story of lots of people in my neighborhood. Fortunately, I was a survivor of penury. But, the soul of the story was a victim.