Sliding over your body,
this soiled, reluctant lover
presses its red mouth to your forehead,
and slips its tongue
into your mind.
Your body goes stiff
as the weight of nothing there
presses you down
into the soft mattress,
for now,
soil’s substitute.
Tonight, dear one, no soft clang
of shovels in earth,
no clatter of sod on the
casket lid.
There is only the weight of nothing there.
Your mind, too frightened to think.
Your body, powerless to act.
Surrender.
The scream is defiant, disturbing,
and splits the silent night air
like a hatchet makes kindling
of twigs.
You decide to fight, not lay there
like a newborn lamb,
and with your thrashing.
the nothing that is there releases you
to come back to yourself.
Restless, fightened,
trembling, crying,
but still
alive.
Not still.
Alive.
Nightshade Stories 