The Carcass She Was

Not for the faint of heart I suppose but sad af.

    Paradise in disguise she was.
    A bundle of sea and sun.

    A cradle of vendettas.
    A death to plea, not shun.

    Her hands held strong.
    She was not wrong,
   
    She held such a weary sight.

    The eyes of a woman.
    The eyes of a man.

    The eyes of something far too bright.

    A carcass lays still,
    Against a wall until,

    It's body does not seem to matter.

    Looking down,
    At a freshly terrified hound,

    With the body of a broken latter.

    "We will wrap her for burial!"
    The mother cries.

    The daughter sleeps without a tear.

    "She is now our proper ferial!"
    The father sighs.

    The stone without a word.

    So still and kind,
    Was her mind.

    So was her face.
    So was her world.

    So delicately fine.
    So tucked behind.

    Yet no one knows,
    Where the memories grow.

    From me,
    It was the red,
    Cold,
    Snow.

Author's Note

This poem reflects when I found my cat after she passed away when I was about 7 years old and held her without knowing that she was long gone. Damn this shit is fucked.