My Afterlife Welcomed My Psychoses

No more rag dolls hanging by their pigtails on the spears of the cemetery’s gates on midnights. No more sounds of laughter from wicked boys as they scurry around with rusted bicycles on full moons. Even the molds on the muffins left by the kitchen window with the hinges and glass broken have silently surrendered to time as it eats all away. The ugly baby’s cries have long been drowned by sadder howls of women’s longings. They have forgotten the other faces of innocence. Ignorant of their own ignorance, they murder my children again and again.