dead man typing

if i was dead before you only springing forth to life when you showered your fleeting affections upon me what type of revenant have i become in our love’s passing

i would have a funeral but the urge to crawl into the freshly dug pit would be likely more than this simpleton can take even though these hands are strong from digging graves

in my mind i imagined you would be the gravedigger’s widow one day that, foolheartedly i now see, you would be the one who sat vigil with me through the twilight years

the stench of rot must have been unendurable to your delicate nose the bits of flesh that fell off my yellowed bones a biohazard much like the fluids that seeped from my wounds

i see now the decomposition of my odes to the standard of beauty you effortlessly portrayed as you crept through the crypts in time for our temporary trist to fade far away

i wear a car freshener around my neck to try and stave off the blowflies that crawl fully formed from my bone dry tear ducts as i sit like an obedient undead dog awaiting you

but you aren’t coming home because home wasn’t this broken down motel of soiled sheets and blood stained carpet made into the meat suit of degradation i had become

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