No Leaf Clover

Poem By Alaina Smith

A claustrophobic comfort, the tomb breathes life.
What was once fleshy residue
formed into something brand new.
And yet,
unprepared.
A screaming light barges through an ominous opening.
Premature.
I'm not ready.
I'm not ready.
I'm not ready!
O' love, wait for me.
For I can feel the red thread of fate
choking me,
choking me dead.

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