Sometimes I wonder what lies down-under,
down under the grave.
'Cause sometime it burns...
“Save m...!”
I'm on a diet of worms.
Don't feed me more sorrows;
help me make it till tomorrow.
'Cause all I feel are burns,
burns from the grave.
This I know,
because she died in a cave.
(br)

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AN: The Drama Department at my school just did a play called “the Language of Angels”, and though I'm not really in that class, my best friends is, and she +cough+ drafted me to design her character's mysteriously-morphing tattoo. ) I had not seen this play or heard its story prior to opening night-----they wouldn't show me the script----but as I discovered, except for the itty-bitty, huge, big important part about teenagers getting wasted, it sounded just like something I wrote! (no kidding; see "Enigmas' Wings" in my fics) 0.o

I can't remember the character's name, but this poem is from the PoV of the guy who murdered Celie. The quote is Celie's (representing her cries for help to Seth, that Seth never heard...) ...And I don't know what that part about the Diet of Worms is... +sweatdrop+ - We were studying that in Theology right around the time they were puttiong-on the show, but I already can't remember what it was anymore. (it has something to do with Martian Luther and something that he wouldn't go to with the Pope regarding indulgences... I think. My teacher said it was called "the Diet of Worms" because it was something nobody wanted to go to----I mean, who on earth would want to ba on a diet of worms! So I figured that was good enough justification...)

PS: Sorry my AN is so dang-long; something was telling me deep deep down that very few people, if any at all, were going to understand this poem. Basically, it's a murderer who is haunted by the ghost of the one he killed, who physically and mentally tortures him, primarily, by searing painful marks into his back for the rest of his life with her ghostly touch, eventually killing him... ...It's a very, very happy story... +cough, hack+ 0.x