I knelt to scream,
the ground beneath whispered, exhaled,
its warmth seeped through,
calling me, a story unveiled.
Fingers clawing, digging deep,
the dirt spoke soft and sweet,
pressed my lips against the earth,
its pulse beneath my feet.
Swallowed soil,
each grain a memory,
each mouthful a call.
It tasted of beginnings
and the dusk of my downfall.
I fill my mouth
with the grit of the land that claims me back,
with every handful, deeper roots,
in the darkness, I unpack.
Mouth full of earth, I’m returning,
where the whispers bind.
The soil remembers my voice,
my tears, the pieces left behind.
I’m earthbound in my breakdown,
where the ground insists,
in the dirt, I find my quiet,
in the soil, I exist.
Can you hear the soil sigh
as I lay down to rest?
It covers me in whispers,
in this grave that knows me best.
I’m eating memories,
the dirt sharp against my teeth,
it’s a feral kind of freedom,
a relief that’s bittersweet.
Here I’ll stay,
beneath the whispering pines,
feeding on the earth,
erasing lines.
In the hold of the soil,
I find my peace,
as I break down,
I’m released.