Poetry Entry 3: Poor Boy Who Works in a Morgue
Dec 27, 2017, 04:36am
realgothgirl
Poor poor boy,
he works,
works,
works,
all night and day,
painting the dead,
and digging their graves.

In the morgue,
he works
works,
works,
and he slaves.

In his mind, he feels insane,
no longer can he tell the dead from the living,
he digs himself a grave.

PS if you like this poem here is a video of me singing it with my guitar-
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Mar 09, 2018, 05:30pm
Linda-Rosse
The audio-video is beautiful. It's a great poem/song.
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