Bitter Bones

Mud Cracked Bones

Skeletons grow younger now,
And my bones blister in the sun.
Each muscle's growing weary,
As her white cage sets in.

Ribs protrude like handles,
Cracked from small child hands.
Jutting from my spinal column,
Four fists clenching busted shovels;
    I'll dig my own grave then.