These Roses

These roses grow on me
They suck my energy
They feed on my flesh
They live because I am dead
 
This used to be my home
Then my family
Thinking me dead
Sold it for bread
 
And the new tenants
Thinking me dead
Planted roses
On my head
 
She waters them daily
The woman
With the pale thighs
And the flaming hair
 
I see her daily
She straddles my body
And waters it
For the roses
 
I see her legs
Her thighs
Her crotch
And her panties
 
She favours pink panties
Pink as the roses
And stringy all over
Except at the crotch
 
Her eyes are green
Her lips red
She smiles like an angel
She sings like a bird
 
Today
She was pricked by a thorn
And she bled on my lips
She tasted sweet
 
Yesterday
Pressed urgently
She looked this way and that
And peed on my face
 
I saw her vagina
And her anus
I tasted her pee
And I knew I wanted her
 
I would have been dead
And gone
But she awoke me
With the water she pours
 
And the singing she does
Such a mellow voice
Even the dead
Must turn their heads
 
These roses are her love
Like her children
Without them
She is utterly wasted
 
In the dark of night
I pull them down
One by one
Into my grave
 
In the morning
She is flabbergasted
Then curious
Then horrified
 
She drops the water can
And calls everyone
But nobody can speak
Everybody is breathless
 
She is despondent
And terrified
Her efforts wasted
Her children dead
 
As she weeps
She walks over me
Straddling me
Searching for an answer
 
I stretch up my arms
Grip her ankles
And pull her down
Into my grave
 
Her scream is high-pitched
And confused
It is brief
Then she is mine
 
Now I can go
Wherever the dead go
I shall go with her
She is mine