Poetry – The Dead

The dead don't rise
like yeast
or dough
oh no
the dead rise
like a grumpy 
yeti
with nails clawing
and voice squalling
from the icy
pits of hell.

                                                                                             marandarussell.com

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marandarussell

Hi! I am an artist, author, and blogger who also happens to have Asperger’s Syndrome. I have won several awards and honors for my writings and artwork. I suffer from a few severe mental illness and chronic pain conditions (Depression, Anxiety, PTSD, Fibromyalgia, CFS/ME, Ehlers Danlos, Degenerative Disc Disease, etc.), which greatly affects my life and makes me want to advocate for others going through similar things. Other interests of mine include reading, writing, drawing, watching cartoons and movies, collecting toys, hanging out with my family, and annoying my 3 cats.

34 thoughts on “Poetry – The Dead”

      1. Yeah, I’m not sure which is really worse. A fiery hell, or an icy, dark hell. Both would suck. Both play on the deepest fears of humans, which is why they are often explored in underworld mythologies.

        Liked by 2 people

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