I will bury you
where the pigs eat.
Deep in the slop,
under rot and bone,
where nothing sacred survives.
No headstone.
No trace.
No search party
with your name in their mouths.
I made sure the dogs forgot your scent.
Shovel met dirt with rage.
You thought I’d crumble —
but I carved a hole so clean
God couldn’t find you
if He tried.
They say bodies talk.
Not yours.
I stripped you of voice,
of legacy,
of anything worth remembering.
No mourning.
No funeral.
No candle for your soul.
Just silence,
and the sound of swine
chewing through betrayal.
You died in me
the second the lie touched your lips.
What’s left?
Nothing.
Not even ash.