White wraiths across the rocky ground
Like foxes to their burrows.
Run from death’s heralds as they watch
From hidden places
Behind barren trees,
Appear up from the soil,
Black clad figures, ragged robes abrading the ground,
With skeletal hands outstretched
To snatch life away,
Unforgiving predators chasing pale, flightless birds.
Chase the pill with the bottle,
The needle into the vein.
Fly the high to heaven’s gate
Till hell brings you back again.
From hidden places,
Behind dumpsters and cardboard boxes,
Appear ghosts from fevered dreams.
No life everlasting,
Mortal flesh decaying,
We lay on marble thrones,
As the wind whines through our bones.
*this is what happens when you begin writing a zombie story while listening to Sia’s Loved Me Back to Life.