what happens after death?
no one really knows.
and honestly --
i don't think
i want to know.

some say
you go to heaven.
or hell.

others like to believe in
the afterlife,
in ghosts,
in wandering,
in haunting what's
left behind.

but me?
i just like to think
its just
that it's a kind of closure.
one thats quiet,
and final.
the kind that doesnt need
to be explained.

I can’t tell you how much I miss her
or I might begin to cry
it may just be the idea of her
and my memory is a lie
either way, there is a deep-rooted longing
the need for companionship and belonging
someone to share my love and passion
feel free to call me old fashioned
but I miss her whoever she was or could be
her that fulfilled all my needs
where have you gone the love of my life
I know the answer I know that you died
tell me how I fill that void
that hole where a heart once sat
now those feelings I try to avoid
now I only deal in facts
the fact is I talk to strangers
about everything but love
how can I tell them how much I crave her
about what really is and was
now I use my body to numb the pain
so many strangers
so many forgotten names
I can’t name her
or remember her voice
I can’t even say she loved me back
or that she really had a choice
so please please cut me some slack
if I step out of line
and if I look a little down
please ask again if I say I’m fine.

But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so pale and defenseless that I couldn’t do it. What I wanted to **** wasn’t on that innocent skin or in that terrified pulse fighting against my blade. What I wanted to **** was somewhere else deeper, somewhere else quieter, and somewhere impossible to reach.

yesternight’s pale dream
of a lamented maiden
skin frigid to the touch

her putrefied necrosis
veiled by serene opaque
so white it blinds my eyes

her face of porcelain awakens
and stares deep into me
she sees my plight and anguish

and so begins a song angelic
her lips against my ear

we both fall into lament
and weepingly decay

the hallway is longer than I remember
but the walls still blink like old televisions
buzzing static prayers, I never meant to say
and maybe that’s the only truth I’ve ever told

I used to think
that graves were for the dead
but I saw you last week
sitting in the shade of one
talking to the stone like it owed you something

dust in your fingernails,
coffee spilled on your shirt
half-smile like a cracked jar
I asked if you were okay
and you looked right through me—
said nothing but “almost”

there are holes in the ground
that match the shape of our names
and the wind knows all of them
it whispers backwards in the morning
pulling memories from my throat
like strings of wet wool

I buried my first version of myself
beneath a playground slide
age seven, maybe eight
he didn’t cry, just sank
quietly, like a stone in jelly

and then the others followed—
the one who thought love was a sharp light
the one who learned to lie like breathing
the one who stopped writing poems

sometimes I wonder
how many funerals I’ve missed
how many of me
are just waiting
for someone to say goodbye

have you found your grave?
or are you still
digging with your bare hands
pretending the mud is gold
pretending the silence is sleep

maybe graves aren’t endings
maybe they’re just
rooms we forgot we built
with all the doors locked from the inside
and no windows,
just mirrors
fogged by time and sweat

maybe we aren’t supposed to find them
just feel them
under our skin
pressing like questions
no one’s brave enough to ask

the subtle sun of silent dawn
crawling in through every crevice
in the crumbling stonework
and the fissured stained glass
of the dilapidated crypt

its murky interior gelid
housing forsaken old relics
of forgotten young orphans
enveloped by blankets of dust
and deteriorated cobwebs

entropic amalgamations
of decaying ****** souls
in this wretched sepulcher
of gloom and of light
so profoundly serene

oh Mother of Wraiths
Queen of Vinsaule
cloaked in mystic white
gently gliding along
with the chiming of keys
revealing The Other Sun
and shepherding our souls
to the tranquility of nightfall
as you guide our renewal
leading us hand in hand
to the realm of the Veļi
the final land of the dead