Little Things



Of what use are pretty little dead things to me

Who has been sleeping with your corpse for so long

That I have forgotten how to feel

The cold of your withering glance

Phalanges, clutching at the warmth of my

Still beaten heart

Forever playing Persephone

To your Hades

But, alas, even she was allowed to see

Her home six months a year

To feel familiar sun on her skin

Her mother’s kiss on her brow


Your hell has more lenient leash laws

For its rabid dogs of war than

You have for me, your latest spoil

Funny what the dead will fear

When to God they fail in their allegiance

For yea though I walk through this valley in the shadow

Of your death

I shall fear no love

Even when I cross through that veil ending time

No misfortune shall God allow to fall upon my shoulders

No cry of regret shall God allow to reach my ear rendered deaf

To all but Glory


No need shall I have to take from the living that which

I mourn most

For what will they possess that my Father does not

Own already

You are a fool to think

That stealing from the living

Makes you any more alive so

Of what use are pretty little living things to you

Who has been walking dead for so long

That you have forgotten how to feel


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Mika Maharaj is a multimedia artist from the United States who currently lives in the Republic of Trinidad and Tobago. She is an advocate for human rights, gender equality, environmental preservation, and dreaming big.  She hopes to change the world armed with the ink of her pen, the lens of her camera and a few bars of dark chocolate.

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