Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Dead Dream

What do the dead dream?
I ponder as I stand over a nearly lifeless corpse,
Ready to bury the fool
Whose life I chose to cut short with words
Razor sharp and ready to slit.

I kick the body in a six foot hole,
With a slight smile upon my face.
What DO the dead dream?
Is it dreams, or memories still tethered to
The dying brain.

I shovel the dirt.
I think of how the maggots will
Soon devour her body,
And how a melange of bugs
Will call this cadaver a home.

I think her dreams are reminders
That she once lived.
Her breaths become short, and meaningless.
Soon, I will have robbed her of the air
She needs to sustain herself.

Her eyes flutter open one last time,
And I make sure the dirt falls onto those
Once meaningful orbs.

They are stone cold now, and she looks
To me in fury but a half dead body cannot
Do the work of a fully living one.
She succumbs and I walk away, haunted
And less cynical, pondering as always,
Those bitter eyes and the dead dreaming.


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Dead Dream

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