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don't be surprised when she rejects you; searching for the last bone by Linda Crate



don't be surprised when she rejects you


just because i showed you

my light and my flowers

doesn't mean that i am not more

than mere petals and soft sunlit

nights and mornings;


i am also darkness and rage,

talons and thistles and the sharpest

of thorns;


i am both the dream and the nightmare—


tried to give you goodness,

but all you did was throw that in my

face;

carving into my marrow with all of your darkness

suspending me in a limbo where i couldn't

think straight let alone remember who i was—


if you are so eager to dance with death

then i will reveal her to you,


but don't be surprised when she rejects you because

you are not worthy to be her husband and she

won't be just anyone's bride.



searching for the last bone


you kept me at a distance

so i couldn't smell the stench

of your rotting corpse,


i must confess that i didn't know

zombies could speak so sweetly


or tell such lies and leave behind

such darkness

in the living;


guess they have to have some sort

of edge the movies and books never

show—


but now that i have crawled

out of the bones of your darkness,

consider this the shovel to your face

before i thust every silver blade of

my fury into you and cut you into

so many pieces the critters will be searching

for days for the last bone.


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