Undeath

My heart is hollow.

When the wind blows

through my empty chambers,

desert cockles,

it shakes the effigies

down the cracking valves

cackling down

the marrows of my bones.

I mourn as the gales

steals my breath. 

Listen closely to my core.

Hear the drafts

curdle into wails

of the damned.

how did I become this?

Six feet down,

jaws filled of mire,

last rays of golden sunlight

choked by copper pennies

adorning my paling eyes.

The smell of pink flesh

fading with the light.

So, easy,

so, human,

instinctual

for a zombie to rise

teeth bared,

saliva foaming,

blanched knuckles reaching

through hardened earth...

Even still,

as adrenaline surges,

my lips soften,

despite my atrophied muscles.

Shyly:

I bloom out of the loam,

of my grave.

Crawl to the nearest,

burial pit beside me.

Extend my decrepit hand

down to the deceased

nearest me.

Grip their forearms, tight,

and pull them back

up to the sun.

Sinews snapping,

bones popping,

rotting flesh falling,

For even in death,

I will still

find

my way. 

Image created using AI art generator Night Cafe Studiio.