A Subconscious Murder Poem by Bernadeth Tolentino

A grave, shattered and caving in, sits
at the center of the graveyard, waiting.
Waiting with a skull resting in the
dark hole- an ugly, new born
chick; waiting. For food. Slowly I look
around and around, and suddenly realize
I am alone. Silence grows louder and
the gravestones scream, ever so faintly, the
names of the souls they have trapped
within their stone. Running, I fall, deep
deep down, into my own grave. Face to
face, staring into the empty sockets
of my aunt’s skull.
Screaming, I tumble. Floating in front of me,
following me, the skull is. Just like the
sick mustard moon in the brown leather sky-
grinning at me. I wake up. A gleaming knife
rests in my hands, only, it’s not silver.
Warm, sticky, crimson blood
drips off the blade and onto the cold tile floor.
The blood begins to fill the room,
starting at the center; crawling to
the corners. A metallic smell drifts; dazing
me, making my eyes water. There, at
the center of the room, her head sits.
Tilted, ever so slightly, in a questioning
gaze. Why. Her voice echoes, in the
empty graveyard. Why did you do this
to me.

Her eyes close.