In my nostalgic moments, I sometimes rifle through my old poetry and blog posts, and I came across something from 2010 that made me grin:

there is a secret urge
that lays beneath my skin
to bury these old skeletons
and the coffins that they’re in

I’d take my trusty shovel
and dig throughout the night
and wipe my sweaty brow
with the garments of my plight

every speck of dirt dislodged
will remind me of your dead heart
and your ugly mangled faces
I was so fortunate to depart

but alas I do fear
that my stamina is low
so my shovel shall remain hidden
underneath my vengeance’s glow

and once my chance comes yet again
oh yes, that day you’ll see
the mercy that I once gave you
will be as scarce as a December bee.