Dead Girl

By L. K.

In which the person you love fades in and out of your life.

In which they kill the feelings they have for you out of "fear" and

you are left with the ghost of them,

a romance that died before it started.

You won’t even get to speak

at her funeral.

All fragile, eggshell memory.

A reverse kind of nostalgia veiling all the happy

you thought you saw.

You're still falling in love with the dead girl.

Fresh love, so blind to reality

that not even death spoils your daydreams.

Look at her.

Each time you touch her, she's colder.

You tell yourself the change means

there's something there.

There's something happening - she's thinking of you.

And when she rots,

when her skin

is just as ice

as the last time,

you think:

It's external.

It's the winter.

Maybe, i'm just checking up too often.

When you hold them in yours,

her veiny hands never let go.

They don't want you to stay

or go

or anything at all.

They don't want you

or

they don't want.

She stayed true to:

"Until Death do us part."

She was just quiet with the killing.

And you think:

Couldn't you have given me the gun?

Couldn't you leave me

and then go?

*

L. K. was born and raised in Prishtina, Kosova. He is studying Psychology and Gender Studies in Istanbul, and mainly writes poetry. You can catch him doing slam poetry in Prishtina and Istanbul.

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