i can't believe it.

you became the walking dead.

the transformation was spectacular.

your mouth did move...

so few words yet so much biting.

and now i try not to stare:

doodles and giggles

numbing

against

devalue and discard.

you are dead--

my affection rotted to slimy ribbons

to match.

what is left to say to you?

excuse me, sir,

but your face is going to fall off.

and did you know...

you stink?

by all means,

go ahead and stagger towards

your next victim

i'll be right here...

alive--

valuing my living heart.