The Death in Me.

Pride Ed

I've laid faced-down for so long;
my heart is asleep.

It thumps like static through
my atretic cavities. 
It contorts as my lungs try to 
scream it awake. 

Each breath prolongs the
eventual decay of my diaphragm,
even as my insides already 
float in it's own purulence.

I'm such a corpse now,
but you're not done with me.

All I can taste is the rotting
inside my tongue as you
reach inside to further taint
the nature within. 
I feel each vein in your fingers.
My spine grows around them
like a dark forest falsely 
looking for sunlight.

All I can see is an autopsy
as you bring them to my lips. 
I still feel those damned things 
on the inside, and I still taste 
you rotting in my tongue like
the poison I ingested 
last summer.
Like cyanide; a respiratory failure.

I'm so dead now,
but you're the ghost galvanizing 
my grave.