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at night when everything is quiet, the street lights flicker. the air is glacial and the wind's whispers could be mistaken for death whistling.
i am restless in my grave, six feet deep—nowhere near close enough to the earth's core to be warm. i shift and mumble, my skin is translucent and my blood streams are like icicles. i pry open my coffin, dirt cakes underneath my long nails as i claw my way to the surface. my lungs wheeze and prickle at the sense of oxygen, i feel empathetic for newborn babies who don't know to expect this.
my bones ache as i fight to walk around the cemetery, my mouth is like cotton and whilst my nose has sunken in i am sure i smell of decay, i've heard its sweet and resembles the cherry flavoured cough medicine i hated in my adolescence.
christ i am so lonely now, i'd be happier if i craved human brains, it would be reassuring to feel anything but sorrow. yet my teeth have rotted away and maggots slither in my gums so i'm not sure hunger would solve my problems.
i am not sure why this curse is unique to me, this space is liminal and i crave interaction, but it is futile longing for the warmth of an existence that wouldn't recognise you—i am not sure my father could love me now that my eyes are shrunken into my skull, and now that my jaw swings freely.
i tap on the tombstones of the lonely, ones that are overgrown with shrubbery, ones where the names are crusted over with lichen, or ones where they have toppled over altogether. a response will not come but after a while i begin to convince myself that they rasp back—i'll hallucinate the moving of an angel statue's wing, or the pursing of the virgin mary's marble lips.
when walking gets tiring i will sit by the fountain, it bubbles and gushes, and i can look at my skin and imagine my wounds are oozing spring water instead of pus and despair. i once dabbled in caressing the roses yet they wither at my touch, akin to how i curled away from yours.
lurking back at my grave, i brace myself for infinite restlessness. i slip back through the dirt—down, down, down—and i crawl back into my coffin. my eyelids flutter shut yet i will not sleep, the dead never do. no one will visit me, not a soul will mourn my grave, nobody will curse god for taking me so soon, even so i will hold onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, next time i come knocking you will open the door.
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tily ༊*·˚
also! special thanks to lia (@playmate2004) for suggesting i do something on lonelines agesss ago, i finally got around to it! also to julia (@skulllkitty) and ellen (@ellensplayground) for always being so kind abt my writing! i love u all
tily stop im so sorry i saw this so late but i love you and your writing so much
by julia ^_^; ; Report
dont be sorry babe i love u!
by tily ༊*·˚; ; Report
TripleK
really love the details in this one!
thank u so much!!
by tily ༊*·˚; ; Report
nicheblunt°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
ooooo this is so good, this w ethels song hits omgg
im so glad u agree!!
by tily ༊*·˚; ; Report
ocno
wow this is really nice, i've never thought about the undead like this
thank u so much!! this is lowkey so different to my normal stuff but i love it
by tily ༊*·˚; ; Report
well its really good so you should write some more like this!
by ocno; ; Report
That's a really cool poem again!!
by Ivy; ; Report
thank u!!
by tily ༊*·˚; ; Report