rating: +15+x


When anger's sharp claws

Threaten to rip a hole

Through my chest

Crush my ribs

With its weight

I imagine myself as a corpse

Pale and gaunt

Funeral home lipstick desperately seeking to bring out

Any residue of blood left in my cheeks

Hands cold and stiff

Slightly tinged blue

Formaldehyde sitting stagnant in my veins

My mouth carefully sculpted

In a peaceful




I imagine you.

How would you look?

Would you cry?

Would your face be splotchy?

Eyes puffy and dry from countless



Would you scream?

Would you strain your vocal cords?

Until you cannot muster up the strength to whisper?

Until all you can do

Is cough and gag?

Would you muster up the courage to see the casket?

To drag your shaking legs to stare

In the glassy eyes

Of your greatest sin?

Would you feel anything at all?

Or would you


In the back pews

Face as rigid as it ever was


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