Dennis Watson

Shallow Grave, by Dennis J. Watson

Can you hear me scratching at the top of this box? Even if you could would you be the one to dig me out? I’ve figured it out, ya know, life I mean… With all the selfish things in it you barely own your dreams… I fiend just to feel the sun on my skin again… It’s like they only reminisce about me when they’re 2 sheets to the wind… Like I’ve been passed on to an afterlife… All I have left is these maggots in this dirt so there’s nothing left to sacrifice… You’d figure since this isn’t a real life that I’d be closer to God… That I’m surrounded by angels, but that assumption is wrong… I don’t belong here, but it’s clear that they’d rather me die in it… if it’s eye for eye & tooth for tooth, then we’d all be blind & have mouths without teeth in them… I’ve contended with myself several times for the heavyweight belt & chastised him just as plenty… With history repeating itself I’m just the younger reflection of Denny… It’s a damn shame that we withstand the pain through these extremities that have been taken… To awaken in a place that only fills me up with hatred… My patience is thinner than a runway model that ate tree bark for dinner… With no more mourners left only the coroner sets my body in this still pasture… My eulogy has been read as the judge then slams the gavel… I feel as if I never mattered, not even to the woman that passed me off to my father’s mother… Why do I still search for the misplaced love that was lost when half of my life is over… Every season that passes gets colder even in the scolding summer months… Such a shame that no one will even lay flowers at my grave sight… In the same hour barely existing in a place that has no time… Why does this feel like purgatory? The another soul feel the same that came before me? As I endure these tribulations, I know that I’m not alone… I know the Grimm reaper so well that even he knows there’s nothing left to take from my soul… I’ve been pushed farther away from my existence as I stare outside of this fence… I don’t even feel like they miss me or care if I’m mentioned… I’m a walking memorial that has been rendered defenseless… Freedom is the 1st thing on my wish list, Besides a full 5th, something pretty & thick that’ll hip kiss… That must me the institutionalized side of me showing his hind leg… Better than being a zombie like the rest of in here, always looking for brains… Shame that the headstone changes daily when you’re not famous… Especially when you become litigations least favorite… As the time ticks on, & everyone but me is aging… I’ll still be scratching at the splinters in the top of this box, of the shallow grave…

Dennis J. Watson
DOC #A632936

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