stomach’s necropolis hums with electricity
but the lights won’t turn on and the cobwebs are
sticky (somebody forgot to pay their dues)
harbouring pasts long forgotten
where the dead churn and writhe
a bygone is never a bygone and
a house is never a home and
i so often forget i am not a bird of prey
my hands were not made for letting go
i wear your memories
i dance with your ghost
prom queen crowned most likely to kiss death on both
lips grasping, grasping, grasping
daisies pushed up
lilies spread around
mould streams out of eyes
i organise a funeral for all the best parts of me
i am tired of writing eulogies
Featured photo courtesy of author.
