After I die
I will continue to dream
Long, harrowing, vivid dreams
I will see worlds collapse
And starving children die,
I will see a pale woman
Bathing in her own blood,
Her glassy eyes looking
So peaceful
Almost happy
But still very dead
She looks prettier dead
No more pain
Or self-conscious self-criticism
She floats unafraid
And perfectly nude
Drained skin softened by
The bath and turned to stone by rigor mortis
Each toe a perfectly wrinkled date
Each finger a delicately puffed sausage
Purple lips part slightly
With the memory of her last
Breath
In my dream I sit cross-legged
On a blood soaked shag bath rug
My arms resting on the porcelain
Side.
I tell her all this while
Straining my eyes for
Ripples in the water.
There are no ripples.
She is perfectly dead.