It’s quite a thing for us to have
A beating, working heart
To inhale, exhale, inhale again
As you fall spectacularly apart

For when you die according to
Any book I’ve read
Your heart goes still, your lungs deflate
To be considered dead

You shouldn’t feel the pulsing blood
Flow warmly through your veins
You shouldn’t walk and talk and think
Or feel such intense pain

There’s something so poetic
In being the walking dead
To be murdered so profoundly
On such an inconsequential bed

As dignity fell to the ground
Like a ***** takes of her clothes
Your body somehow betrays itself
And completely and utterly froze

So while you lay there dying
Your heart remains so strong
Your lungs- they keep on breathing-
It’s as though there’s nothing wrong

When the killing is finally finished
When the deed is finally done
The world slowed and hastened all at once
Into confused, oblivion

For how can you be breathing
When your life has come to an end?
When you’ve been so completely broken
There’s nothing left to even mend

But get up and walk you do
And inhale, exhale you must
Because, unfortunately, your heart must stop
For you to turn to dust


Like a ghost without the benefit
Of being properly dead
You inhale, exhale, all the while
With that memory in your head

Being undead hurts and numbs your
Senses simultaneously  
And your wounds bleed out in places
No one else can feel or see

Wake up, inhale, exhale, sigh
Pretend the same you still exists
But that girl is dead and gone
Even though her ghost persists