finally, i’m dying

at your command.

the afternoon blurred

together as my liable

eyes fell silent.

are you happy now?

or will you still resent me

because my blood stained

the white tile,

creeping through the maze

of grout divots.

just shaking your head

at the lightbulbs in your chandelier

staring back

in the last red, glossy movement

of my body.

thinking about how much

bleach & time

this will waste.

at least the mortician

cares about me,

careful to not leave behind a scar

on my hardened sheath.

I hope she remembers

to unglue my lips

so i can speak terror to you

from my grave.

but there’s no point

in being bitter

after I’m dead, so

instead I’ll whisper

thank you

when you lean over

the side of my casket

to kiss my

formaldehyde cheek

for the last time.

(4/12/20)