365 Poems – 143 Password (Rough First Draft)



Death, it tells me,

is only small.

Don’t worry.  


People keep telling you

to leave me in the rain

overnight. They think

it will wake me up.

Their ignorance about this

extremely painful void

is frankly terrifying.  


I remain all foetal like,

and stiff.  


I am as commonly seen

as a ghost

when the sun is high.


Just before, when I was

born again, it waited

until I could stand

on my own, before

kicking me to the floor.

Dirt comes off.

Bruises heal.

But for now,

you will need a password

for my thoughts.