Post-Mortem

And I quote Edgar’s raven

as he flew away

for as he sat on the cupboard as brandy bubbled,

I knew we would die today.

But first you because a vampire--

exchanging blood for a view.

Hornèd fangs peeked through your lips

and you breathed excuse after excuse through hallowed rooms.

With diamond-sharpened shears, and holding one eye

the Fates sliced our already broken thread.

Lies crumbled to ash

and burned to the sky

and what I wished we could have was dead.

The ghouls feasted on your blackened heart

and stole the wisp of soul from your eyes.

Your body was dead,

but your life was torn apart.

Ignorance is the

monster’s finest disguise.

They called your death

after they found your foot in your shoe,

and they laughed

as they lowered your Nike down.

Your body still rots in the sewers—turning into goo.

I keep on,

keep on

knowing that you may never be found.

The mortician did not sew your eyes shut.

You did that with your own thumb

and now your blind body is rotting

and stinking up the rut.

Maggots eat away

every mendacity-infected crumb.

And now you are skeleton.

You do not even have enough

blood for bruise.

The rats bubbled away

your rotting corpse

leaving nothing

but bone for the world to lose.

I do not know how to live

without your venom tipped love,

without your drunken mouthed kiss

and without the black

and boiling blood.

A eulogy?

how DARE you.

And I'm done being scared of you.

And even if your heart scurries,

you are dead:

you are a bloating carcass

inside your own head.

A tear will be shed, or maybe two

but day will go on and the sun will open the door.

When you died, the raven flew, oh, how it flew

and I quote it again, it cawed --