Corpse Bride

A poem about deadly love.

Photo by Elia Pellegrini on Unsplash

A dead man walking, they called him,
Then what did that make me?
A corpse, chaotic, dead and gone,
A bride still waiting to be?

He sharpened his knives in danger,
He bathed in fire and glass.
My white dress waiting, now stained in blood,
I waited for a lifetime to pass.

To sleep with the fishes, they threatened,
But even sharks quivered in fear.
At this man of mine, a tsunami of flesh,
I stand by the altar. He’ll be here.

If death is a prize — he’s a winner,
A medallion of madness round his neck.
Crowds not cheering, but on the hunt for his blood,
On my wedding day, man, I was a wreck.

It was too late for me and I knew that,
Collateral damage to his unending pride.
But still, he turned up, suit shredded, in flames,
To marry his decaying corpse bride.