18+ A long, twisted poem about a man and a dead body in the dark woods. |
-There She Is- by Keaton Foster There she is Dead Deceased A spoilage of meat Indigestible to most Unidentifiable to others Trapped in a constant state She will never escape I didn’t kill her Because I always loved her And now she is gone A carcass without a soul One of God’s wonderful creatures In a quickening spiral of decomposition Before long they’ll be nothing left She will rot away like leaves No will know that she was here In this shallowest of grave At the edge of these dark woods No one ever comes to this place No one but me The method of her death What a hell of a thing A slug through her skull Instantaneous and brutal A mind numbing ritual For the man with his hand On the trigger of her doom She knew him well But not well enough She pushed him to the edge And while he was there She turned and walked away Whispering as she left You alone must decide So he did I don’t blame him Nor do I blame her The perpetrator of all fate Is truly the one responsible The man in charge Dealing out all of the cards Deciding who lives and who dies Placing stones on our throats Leaving us unable to breathe Leaving us desperate to find relief Forcing us to do things That we would not normally do Driving us to make choices with people Far more dangerous than ourselves There she is Dead Deceased A rotting piece of meat Carrion for animals with a strong gut After her flesh is gone Once her meat is consumed Then her bones will be scattered No one will ever find a single trace It will be as if she just melted away It will be as if she never existed But of course she did Because I have always known her And so has the man that killed her There she is Very much dead I didn’t kill her But I found her I won’t tell a soul No one will ever know I will come back each day Detailing her change Seeing the differences made I will take effective notes Never one to let a good death go to waste I will stomach the stench of her decay I will burden myself with the weight Of knowing what truly happened to her If anyone ask, I will play dumb I will act as if I never really knew her And as if I never once felt something for her There she is Dead Deceased A spoilage of meat Indigestible to most Unidentifiable to others I’d have convinced myself That she did not suffer As the bullet raced through her brain I think of it not as death But rather as a release A one way ticket meaning freedom A destination handpicked for each of us There she is Very much dead I didn’t kill her But I found her I won’t tell a soul No one will ever know I won’t, and don’t have the heart To tell any of them about her And what has happened There she is… There She Is Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014 |