I carve a hole in the shape of you.
I erase your gold veneer.
I swing an axe at the pedestal
Where you once stood proudly.
You are not a God.
You are no more than
An impossibly intricate compilation
Of flesh and blood.
So, I bury you,
Cover you in smooth, dark Earth.
I plant my roots
In the place where love once grew.
I move on, grow from you,
And I know that someday,
Peace will occupy the space in my soul
Where your ghost haunts me.
Abigail is a junior at UNT and is majoring in English, with a concentration in writing and rhetoric. After college, she hopes to become a successful writer.