I am not scared of the dead.
I am scared of the living.
I am scared of broken bones.  
Of the way they curl my skin like pages torn from an old book, simply by slicing my flesh with their words.
I have felt enough for this life and the next.
I have no fear left for the deceased.
For the ghosts of those past. They hold no power over my mortality.
But the living- they have stabbed and ripped and cut like I am an animal ready for consumption.
I am not scared of the dead.
I am envious of their peace.