With cold dead hands, a ghost I am to you alone now.   With cold dead hands that are unseen, unfelt, and unanticipated.   With cold dead hands, my visits are unknown to you making you shiver, and lips embalmed in ice.   With cold dead hands, I will call...

Smitten by the scent of decadence, hungering a thousand beguiles in my cold-grave of winter shade. Listening to the teapot tinkle, whispering to dead souls. In hiatus beneath the gravestones through the permafrost of high back chairs. Tasting death's...

This body! A living, breathing corpse! May my home become my tomb. Have I been entombed alive all this time? Buried with windows of sunlight, Looking out over the trimmed grass of my grave. Where the name on my mailbox is a...