a poem

Zombie

She takes your hand first
leaves the nail clippings in the doorway
to protect you from demons
so that she can consume you whole

Next she takes the soft flesh
of your ankle
to protect you from leaving
to keep you

Then she takes your lips
to stop the air in your throat
to prevent you from revealing
the betrayal

And you know that you've been compromised
that you gave up everything to become
to become someone
someone you never wanted to become

And when you can't even taste the morning
you know that it's too late to turn
turn around, turn into someone,
someone worth turning into

But when she reaches for your heart
it's not there, not in her mouth, but
in your hand, the beat
the bumpabump of twilight and you
you're somewhere
else