You told me it wouldn’t last

unless we left everything in the past,

unless we took off to some land

unknown, you and I, hand in hand.

You took me to a café

to watch the Día de los Muertos parade,

to watch you grimace while I lied

wearing a rigor mortis smile.

You haunted me in my sleep,

left me memories I’d have to keep,

in each, I was guilty

unable to swear fealty.

You visited me in bed

with messages from the dead,

a corporeal couple of what used to be,

threatening to take all of what’s left of me.

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Kristiana Reed juggles writing and teaching English; in both vocations she endeavours to remind people of their self worth and how dazzlingly beautiful the world can be.

You can read more of Kristiana’s writing at My Screaming Twenties