By Amanda Jones
I’m laying there on my back,
Swollen, lifeless, cold to the touch.
You don’t care, it’s easier if I don’t move.
I smell like jasmine,
And you pull my hair
Like the strands are petals.
He loves me, he loves me not.
I watch us from above,
My eyelids pried open by your hands,
The deep reds of my blood mixing with
The dark dirt underneath your fingernails.
It’s been weeks since you’ve killed me.
When do you think your neighbor
Will notice the maggots?
Contributor Bio
Amanda Jones loves horror movies, dogs, and Oxford Commas.