deepundergroundpoetry.com

death

i saw phobos and deimos in a dream. tethered to a toddlers wrist. i'll slip away from myself eventually. we can suffer for all i care. i'm not sure if you're real. i feel sick inside. i dream about the kind of love that can stick between my teeth. how fermented my breath can be. my world putrefaction. you're there. you smell like fresh cut stargazers. and it's lovely. it's new. and it's a different kind of death. of dead flowers. purple and white and yellow carnage. yellow like the sun. and i see your wet hair. in a memory. matted and hanging down. encircling my head. counter. intestines dangling from the bellies of swine. myself sitting indian-style beneath. and i know that when layman dies. we will be beautiful again. and you will be as pretty as the daffodils in the spring. as radiant as medusa's eyes.
as beautiful as a mouthful of flies.
Written by Grae (Bryan Gray)
Published | Edited 25th May 2022
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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