The scurrying of fishes as the watch ticks.

Last tick,

Last sigh,

Last puff.

His last early morning,

His last breathe,

His last cigarette.

3:35 it read for the last time.

The watch's hands' last movement,

His hand's last movement.

The last sound of the breeze,

His last gentle sigh.

The cigarette light dimming,

His own light slowly dying.

The watch on the kitchen counter tells someth...

Even the dead tell stories.

Not with mouths,

But with the weight they leave behind.

And the places they should have never touched.

He touched me once—

In a room too quiet,

With hands that shook like leaves,

But landed like stones.

He touched me.

Not with love. Not with care.

With fingers like splinters.

Sharp and soaked in silence.

They buried him in spring.

The flowers had come too soon.

I did...

Even the dead tell stories,

the afterlife and life on earth is not much different.

Even the dead tell stories,

from the autopsy telling the story of how the dead died, to the story of the sorry life they lived.

Even the dead tell stories,

the story of their small family, the story of who they were.

Even the dead tell stories,

but are any stories even worth the time?

Even the living tell stori...

have you ever seen something so grotesque?

no, don't speak.

have you ever seen something so grotesque?

it's in your eyes.

it will be fine, you know.

but still

have you ever seen something so grotesque?

her body sits on the floor

it is warped with blood and swelling

she is inhuman

have you ever seen something so grotesque?

the police

check her pulse

(there is none to check)

_you made sure of it_...

Even the dead tell stories

Though it’s not a common thought

People tend to ignore the dead

Choosing to suppress these thoughts

But by looking at the dead

We can learn so much

We can learn to cherish life

To shower everyone with care

Just because their hearts no longer beat with life

Doesn’t mean they can’t tell us

Of the regrets they have in life

Perhaps when they died

They were ful...

The dance of death 

The black swan will sing until it's gone

The final note hangs shrill in the air

Chaos reigns the earth today

As the deathbed rises to touch the sky

Loved ones wail up at the stars

And souls fade to an empty gray

The fire burns and rages fast,

Eating the coals and licking the grave

From lumps of earthy terrain

Skeletons rise from ashes anew

The moon comes up illuminating t...

Even the dead tell stories

From their things,

From the left behind memories,

In shadows where silence clings.

Whispers crawl through dusty halls,

Echoes drip from crumbling walls,

Fingers trace where laughter died,

In the seams where time has cried.

The rusted key beneath the floor,

Opens the door to dark folklore,

Each trinket holds a ghostly gaze,

In forgotten, haunted lab...

Even the dead tell stories,

They whisper secretes from their graves.

Their bodies six feet under,

But their spirits roaming free.

Watching,

Stalking,

Whispering in the ears of the living,

Planting ideas into their heads.

Horrible, horrible ideas.

To kill themselves.

To sacrifice their souls to the underworld.

Beacuse the dead,

Now slaves to the ultimate ruler,

Whoever that may be,

Use their lethal...

Stars dancing across the waters edge. Souls sneak in though the darkness’s grasp. What’s one to do when there’s nothing to be done?

You’ve run from the church in your cotton blue dress, you run to the hill. A tear slips. You’re gaining speed as your run, run, run. Branches scar your face as you push past with no care. Your hair comes undone. Your ribbons off, now owned by the darkness.

Finally...

Dance of the thorns, from those who mourn,

Brittle from blight, hide from the light,

The grave can not hold, what was meant to be told,

The hurt that they hold, from fables of old,

Tale of valiant deaths, or little children taking their final breaths,

The harm will not stop, as bones pop,

Because even the dead have stories to tell...