Graveyard

Graveyard.

Brittle yellow pages, the faint smell of mold, dried and barely visible ink. A name etched across the gray stone; marking the deceased and the forgotten. Shadows swirls around the earth, rain droplets hit the cold skin, sliding down the surface and dampening the empty figure. Ten steps forward only to fall into another empty ditch, nails clawing against the wet dirt, smeared with mud and exhausted from the climb. Reaching the top,  half dead only to resurrect the other half; black eyes and broken bones testaments of the upheaval. Spitting blood, black ooze pouring out the strained heart, navigating through the graveyard.