untitled 8

another rhyming one

I am buried in a web of thorns
thousands of sharp points tear my skin
as i thrash in the pains of love forlorn
and my soul is dying from within

overhead the skies are dark
below the ground is red
a thousand thorns have left their mark
on a body cold and dead

i am buried in a wooden box
six feet below the ground
in the realm of death no one talks
not a whisper not a sound