Proof

I’d been assured the

Old man was dead and gone, but

I had to be sure.

My shovel broke the

Fresh earth of his grave, and I

pried the lid from his

Coffin by moonlight.

He coughed, and said “rest in peace.

Boy, you’d never let

Me rest.” Nodding I

Drove the stake through his heart and

Stroked his hair. He laughed.

Photo by sergio souza on Pexels.com

Corrupter

You do not give your
Sex, I take it. It is now
As it always was

Your struggle is like
Sweetness on my lips, Honey
In my throat. Give me.

Your tragedy, my
Symphony, your misery
My fantasy, while

I draw breath, it is
Ripped from your throat. You are mine
Forever, even

If you could kill my
Body, still would I persist;
I live inside you.