a poem by Anastasia Jill

There is a dirty thing in your lips
because you eat the maggots
forging homes inside the headstone
that brings you rest.

You give me bits of corpse to eat,
tempting me to join your side.
But I don’t eat corpse;
I am not malicious.
I am nothing like you.

I wear my spirit skin,
made of gray matter and regrets;
you may have killed me,
but I still walk among the living.

I am ghost and you are ghoul.
Nobody ever misses a ghoul
except me for me.
Now clean your mouth
so your teeth are primed for my revenge.

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