No More Does Death Do

e03b24415e7f27976d297b040f40efae

Sarcophagus closet kept

closed

at the end

of the hall-

way.

Skeleton

key

hangs unused; a loosened

noose

around my neck

reminds me,

 

No more does death

do.

 

No more

does death do,

than I have grown accustomed to.

 

And I can live without you,

mama,

here,

on the opposite side of the closet door—

that goddamned closet,

made into your

coffin.

 

© 2019 Kindra M. Austin

Published by Kindra M. Austin

Author of fiction, poetry, and very sweary social commentary. Editor, and co-founder of Indie Blu(e) Publishing. Co-founder of Blood Into Ink, and Heretics, Lovers, and Madmen.

10 thoughts on “No More Does Death Do

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