A Poem I Wrote About Zombie Love

  I'm Not A Zombiphile But...

she was comfortable in death she never chose to be awakened,

and leave her grave craving flesh and seen as an abomination,

just like I never chose to be accused of awful crimes and get taken,

to spend my teenage years locked away on some bullshit allegations,

she spend years underground just rotting there in her grave,

while I was locked down in my cell and got forgotten by my mates,

the scent of grave soil clings to her body and her necrotic face,

like how the grime from the cells clings to my skin like a trod-in stain,

humans try and kill her ever since she dug herself out her grave pit,

and since I got out of St Andrews I been facing all the same shit,

all the humans hide their skin from her cos they know that she craves it,

and they hide their flesh from me cos they suspect I'm a rapist,

her body's long deceased but there's still so much life within here yet,

whereas I might look alive but there only death residing in my flesh,

we're both heart broken from missing out on lives that we didn't get,

so in a way she and I are both a different kind of living dead