[ places dead introverts hide ]

I'm only make-believe my dear,
and have been ever since I died.
I'm following my fetch-deer
but everyday I've cried...

if not with tears, in blood,
if not from fears, a flood

of memories overwhelming,
profane screaming condescending!

Whenever the dead arise from within
walking cemeteries become gardens.
Ice within an expired heart hardens
as they consume the dead with a grin.

I may be somewhat pale and thin.
I'm Nordic and protect my skin
from sunlight on bright afternoons.
I often like to watch cartoons
instead of going outside.
Introverts can see inside

the places where we like to hide,
the places where the dead reside.