Buttered Popcorn

It is in what they call grotesque that I find most my happiness

In death I find the most beauty

what they call creepy I find most fascinating

A walk in the woods

The discovery of a deceased animal

They would walk past

Not think twice

I would like to sit next to it

Stay until the sun goes home and the stars awake

Then return each following day

To watch the glamour in decomposition

The sustaining of present life through the death of previous

And once the vultures and maggots have had their fill

collect the bones

so they might find a second life

and sit in reverence with the other findings on my bookshelf

I don’t think everything happens for a reason

I think things simply happen because they can’t not happen

I don’t believe there are gods

But when you sit here with me

And you run your fingers through my hair

And I trace the veins in your hands

I think there must be a reason

There must be someone or thing pulling strings

Because not even nature

Could create something as beautiful as you

Animals die

It is grotesque

It is ugly

It is creepy

But I hope to die with my face buried in the crook of your neck

For that is where I will find my happiness

My religion

And as the skin peels off my bones

I hope you watch

As the maggots crawl over my muscle and the vultures pick at my limbs

Until I am nothing but bone

I hope you collect my ribs