Like a rotting corpse in the Earth,
There is little I can do.
A vicious disease, it cleans me free of bone, tissue and hair.
Barely sustaining me.
There is no cure but prolonged love between us.
When distant, I fall back into a slump.
Utterly in a hell unknown.
My skins peels, as my heart breaks.
I try to push the coffin door north, to release myself from such a confined space.
With no success, the coffin door shuts and I immerse myself in darkness once more.
I wish for no-one to see me, a monster, or a zombie possessed by a dead romance.
His palm on mine is only a dream.
A sheer vision or desire.
It won't ever happen and because of this, a monster such a myself will again be dead to the world.

