Haunted

Grief, loss, and decay - the power of relationships and the way they affect self worth

I.

If I die

serpents will pry venom from my lips

gently tuck their scales beneath my spine;

ethereal bodies wrapped around my neck so tightly

they tear the branches from my eyes and scatter them as ash.

Spectral mourning will seep from my skin and drift into yours.

II.

The same sun will beckon you at dawn

but it will be my ribs that bind and tether you to the posts

entwined in the fibers of my flesh.

you will try to sleep

but the tortured contours of my frame will taunt you, staining your sheets,

your walls, the stitches in your pockets.

III.

Traces of my blood are caked beneath your nails

matted and tangled in the roots of your hair

crystallized like liner beneath the edges of your eyes

every time you beg them to close.

IV.

When I am solely bones, dust, hostility

echos against a shrouded sky; woven in the furrowed edges of withering blades of grass

the pigments and prints left on your lips will never wash out

despite the bleach you use to drown my image;

how your tongue simmers and shrieks while you scrub

until your hands are cracked and bleeding