Six Feet Under Two nights ago, they were here- bodies clothed in dirt- reeking of six feet under. A dark cloud escapes the sulphurous haze in which each drop of rain is unpalatable, and the house that you see cowering- the one with the cream colored shutters, and that old-time tire swing is still for sale. Their faces melt as a red hue paints the horizon and I envy their last words that seem to keep the feeling of insanity untouched, as the linoleum caresses my skin, eyes not able to escape the mirror that reflects anger. This poem is in memory of both my grandparents...
