Category : Poems
Sub Category : N/A
My soul falls from my bones,
I strip my mind of my thoughts.
My ribs become spears, arrows, knife points.
Dry land will be my bed for my entire mouth.
Can you catch me after I fall?
I'm not the only one waiting buried but safe.
The skin burns the raindrops; it cools the wind.
I ask you once more:
"How can you catch me after I fall?"