Notice of absence from Tristan Robert Lange
Life is full of seasons. This is a season of transition for me, where I will be moving with my family to a new location. As such, with much logistics to consider, I am doing my best to keep up. Please know if I accidentally don't respond, it is not because I am ghosting or becoming distant. Once things settle after the move, I am sure life will return to some normalcy. In the meantime, and always:
Read 👓, Write ✍️, Rise 🌅, Realize 🤯.
Tristan 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Life is full of seasons. This is a season of transition for me, where I will be moving with my family to a new location. As such, with much logistics to consider, I am doing my best to keep up. Please know if I accidentally don't respond, it is not because I am ghosting or becoming distant. Once things settle after the move, I am sure life will return to some normalcy. In the meantime, and always:
Read 👓, Write ✍️, Rise 🌅, Realize 🤯.
Tristan 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
The smell of formaldehyde wafts—
Its acrid aroma suffocating—
As the twist-snap-pop of the cap echoes.
gurgle
glug
gurgle
glug
gurgle
glug
The fluid pours into the embalmer’s bowl,
Now an amalgamation—
A mixture: antiseptic chemical,
Methanol, water and dyes—
To hydrate. To preserve.
The rot: temporarily stayed.
The bodies are quiet—
Barring breaking hissing wind—
But not always
Still.
Mortis, meet rigor.
Muscles twitch torpid,
Timbered
Tomb-locked.
Still,
The bloated bodies are burial born,
Not long for the outer world,
Awaiting the mortician magician—
Blanched and benumbed—
Cocktail kaleidoscope,
An acid trip through the veins.
hisssss-khaaah
The mouth opens
With a whistle-wheeze—
The sound severs the silence.
The sound of rapid
Beats pounding,
The muscular drumming
Erratic at first,
Then collecting itself
Into quick, steady
thum-thumps
Pulsating within;
Slowing,
The beats bate,
Balking at blackout.
The mouth moves—
Its lips pigmented with
Xerostomic crust—
With desiccated deliberation.
Even a hiss prevented—
Pain in perpetuity—
The corpse cannot commun—
...icate.
A need to pause.
A piercing pain punches
Petulantly, like a child,
Nothing remains still—
Not its mouth,
Not the room—
Just the corpse.
Its body now a canvas,
A grotesque grimoire;
The ink on its pages?
Veins slither like snakes
Shaping symbols and words,
Spelling out something
Spine-chillingly shadowed.
The words—
You’ll never believe—
Are words of clarity;
Yet, still they deceive:
“You’ll be next
if you don’t leave.”
Looking around,
No exits now in view—
Gone are the ways in here—
There’s nothing left to do.
Looking at the body,
Its veins opened out
Into pores,
Leaching crimson ink onto the floor,
Then evaporating into spores.
Deceit in those words,
“If you don’t leave”—
Ever meant to deceive—
Deliver damnation-domination
Upward upon me.
For I cannot leave,
Death holds dominion—
Corpse is my creed.
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
-
Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: June 23rd, 2025 06:46
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence
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Comments6
Brought me back to my Gran’s anatomy lab. Vivid writing🙏🏻🕊️
Why thank you, my friend. Hopefully it was void of corpses with slithering veins! But an anatomy lab...how cool! 😎 Thank you so much for your time and your thoughts, my friend! 👏🌹
Yup, there were corpses, unclaimed and some from the prisons as well, adding the fear of the criminally deceased. Fun times🕊️🙏🏻
The stuff PTSD and a macabre sense of humor are made of. 🤣 Fun times, I can imagine. 😳 thank you for sharing and engaging, dear poet and friend.
Yeah it must have scarred me somewhat but also toughened me up in some way, she was Zero gen, graduated from med school in 1939. It’s made the reading of your thrilling poem extra vivid.
Ooh. I can imagine. Yay! That makes my day, my friend. Thank you.
Did you type / post this a different way? It's all come up, literally. 'All Greek to me!' The only word I recognised was 'Popeye'. (Eh??).
LOL! Try now. I changed the font. Hopefully it's English Greek now! LOL!
Thats my aspirations to be a funeral director gone, enjoyed the read
Wow! A neat profession for sure. Thank you, my friend! 🌹👏
You are very welcome
Excellent write Tristan
Thank you, Tony!!! 🕯️🧪🩸📜
You're welcome
A ghoulish write full of foul and rancid images that slither off the page. Love your use of format to emphasize the words broken word on silence flowing words and the gurgles. A ghastly view of embalming and the surreal, fanciful life still present. I have never accompanied an actual embalming but had a neighbor that was a mortician and he had the most dark and bizarre sense of humor.
Hahahah! Yes, I have known many-a-mortician, some friends. A fun group of people with the most bizarre and morbid senses of humor, no doubt. I fit right in! 🤣 Thank you so much, Soren! Glad this delivered and am thankful for your time and thoughts, my friend! 🕯️🧪🩸📜
Ahh! I can read it now. I see it's a story about some mother-inlaws! heehee.
Hahaha! Yes! And thanks for coming back to check it out again!
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