POEM:
the thought of being buried alive scares me
being locked in a box is alarming
terror sets in and my stomach hurts
sweat drips from my brow
and tears fall from my face
I can taste the salty moisture
it’s humid, hot and suffocating
I’m buried feet from freedom and fresh air
they already speak of me as a memory
abandoned by all remembered by few
like an old photograph tucked in a dusty corner
they’ve left me in a box to rot
to die alone
with my thoughts and regrets
I fear for my sanity
but my sanity is proof of my survival
prison is being
buried alive
PIERRE TONY REDD
DOC #AU4624
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