This freezing flesh
This iridescent skin
This toxic smell;
Chemical

This ghost that
Haunts the halls
Of what used to be home
This ghost almost
Looks real

She lurks, she sulks,
What an annoyance
She’ll squeeze what she can
Her emotion is dead

“Lay, lay” whispers her tired soul
“In the box, in the hole”
As she is young
She’d want predictable pink flowers

A mother flips the pages
Dates pass her by
Much like the lines on her face
I, this ghost look back wondering
“When did it get this bad?”
I suck the juice of her pity, her obligation

Family and friends they would all come
They know not of the carnage I crave
They know not
The designs of my mind
Or in which ways I choose to prioritize

Done asking for help
Done bargaining with God
Busy fantasizing about the damage one
Could do with pills and wine

He shakes his head
Pitiful swine
Knowing not of harsh kisses
Stolen from spiteful lovers
Whose agenda they made clear
In the afternoon my sins
Smell, as does a sewer

Let my penance be simple death