My bones are weeping

to feel the unbridled joy
of gentle degradation
as your bones weep with the gratitude
of the saved

for such a stinging pain
of pleasure
has never dripped from tainted walls
and dusty floors-
I feel as dead
as never alive before

could those be ivy-fingers
crawling up my thighs?
or velvet cockroaches entwining
in the hollow crevices
of this spine?

I'm too numb to protest

my limbs have turned
into marble,
you could carve another
out of them


what did I hear just now?
the flutter of wings
or my own sinking lungs?

rooted lips of envy
sing one final song
for the undead and weary