tired prayers bending for the clouds

like bones breaking
in a lifeless
body
without
piercing the
skin,
the
last secret
movements (of a man)
ache like
whispers to god,
a little
like the sound
of
floor boards creaking
outside
your bedroom,
when you're
all alone,
where
I rest
like ghosts skin,
laying in
the sheets
that he
slept
in

while 3 blocks
away
they carry him
into the ground