Vida Ridge

Poetry; Graveyard Bugs Series

Thoughts weigh heavy on my chest. 
As in this void I hold my breath. 
 
As I stare at a moth dead among the rest,
It makes me wonder; will I ever welcome death? 
 
Or does my mind play it as a fox? A vixen of light,
Shadows hidden, masked by a stone-cold glare?
 
Tortured souls in handmade boxes, scream all night.
Their faces blurry, taken by the one with eyes of red flare.
 
Is this ending truly endless? Or am I falling for death’s wits?
I’m being guided by the wrong hand held in a panicked grasp.
 
I once pleaded for this train to take me from these anxious fits.
But now I’ve jumped from the crazy derailing with a rasp.
 
I see my story watching me at the end of the bridge,
Watching me as I sink into the waters of Vida Ridge