I slept soundly that night as I
Huddled in my blanket of tightly
Knitted flesh, skin so
Soft,
Silky,
Patches
Of a hundred souls touching
My body, each a moment of death
Forever touching another, held together
With silken twine.
I lay on my torso, it is so soft, to rest a weary head,
No ribs do stick or protrude,
All taken from this form now
Delicately comforting my head,
I use not geese feathers,
But that of the
Finest,
Curly,
Hair,
So tightly held, washed to silk smoothness
As they tenderly hold my sleeping slumber.
I have moments of sorrow, as I look behind,
A head board of white,
It is cold as death, but It shows the beauty attained by
Oblivion, the passed resting as one above my head.
I maybe called a monster, but in death is sleep
For the dead now slumber with me,
I hear their souls curse me, voices
Radiating,
Screaming,
Violating
My thoughts, but this is my time,
As each I fed upon, there tortured souls.
There anguish feeds me, and when I am
Consumed within them,
I once again rest. Comforted
By sleeping upon the dead
They touch me like no living could do,
I have another blanket to sew,
Yes it must be peeled while you still breath,
But your torso is so soft, maybe time for a **new pillow.
