morbid poems

Morbid Poems
by Drea Kato
I miss her bone structure, those
jagged beautiful edges, those rows
of perfect white teeth, that gaping
smile, so open and red it almost looks
like a wound. I miss the crazy words
spilling from her, thoughts about the
afterlife, what stupid mess she was
going to make that night. It is
difficult writing this without breaking
down into what looks more like a pile of
clothes on the floor rather than a human
being; it is difficult writing these
morbid poems, watching them turn into
ghosts in front of me, and then they
take turns haunting me for weeks. These
morbid poems are draining me, they are
coffin-sized mosquitoes sucking the blood
straight from my veins, then tearing me
to shreds, dancing and laughing at me
and my glowing toxic organs. At times
they are only pillows made of syringes
that do not hurt that much because they
instantly put you to sleep. I miss her
voice, often tinged with strange feelings
that gnaw away at the soul, or the feeling
that reminds you that love and beauty
could still kill you or make you weak
at the knees. The way it pleaded like
a puppy at the universe, so lost.

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