Buried

by William Morgan

He opened his eyes

Darkness filled him with dread

He scratched on the lid

Screaming “I am not dead!”

He kicked and he punched

And wept with despair

He shuddered and gulped

As he ran out of air

He thought of his Wife,

Kids, and lover Irene

Remembered the photos

the chaotic scene

Recalled drinking the scotch

Then nothing else formed

Hell hath no fury

Like a woman scorned

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