Zombie

 

 

Therapy popped you out again

like a rotten vegetable in the garden—

 

the twelve years

I spent as your sponge,

 

and now, the boxes I’ve spent

too much time going through

 

while you sip matcha lattes

bought with the green money of my soul.

 

You insect,

still squiggly on the microscope slide—

 

but, as therapy goes,

I’m meant to look,

 

rummage through the ghost files,

craft taxonomy from crazy.

 

But, from the way I see it

now, buzz off—

 

you should be the one

in here.

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

Word Garden Word List

Dear Misery,

I miss you.  I really do.

You were always there

ready to make merry,

happy as a shitfaced clown

on Saturday afternoon.

But back to niceties,

you played the fiddle

and I danced

to your tormented tune

like a

jilted wife

waiting for another truth.

Is that dancing?

Hell, yes.

You should see my shoes,

all tapped out, so to speak.

I love you.  Come back.

Though there’s nothing left here

for you except

a .22.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

My more sensitive readers may not appreciate my strong language in this one, and I hope I haven’t lost you, but sometimes, you have to get ugly when you’re fighting monsters…there’s beauty in it...

Mark

Mag 213

I bore your neurotoxic carvings

straight-razored

into my skin,

nerve endings dangling, exposed,

until I transformed

into something

even I

no longer recognized.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Magpie Tales 213