THE TENANT

THE ROOMMATE

Her corpse hath risen from the dead
The grave’s no place to lie her head
She came to live with me instead

She slumbers in her morning lace
Then through the night, the grounds she’ll pace
So I wear garlic just in case

Her skin is rotting off, I swear
Can see the flakes caked in her hair
I hope she keeps it in her lair

Her decomposing-carcass-scent
Comes wafting down the hallway vent
I guess, at least, she’s paying rent

~ by Caroline Adele O’Brien

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