Day of the dead.
Beautiful flowers
Special food
Singing and crying
They are dancing their way to the cemetery
to spend the day with the dead
Tradition says love the ones who have gone
But I am raging against my dead
Papa was evil and I spill his blood now over white flowers
I wish I could drink his blood
Dance on his bones until they are sharp shards
Cut his face into long shapes of betrayal and lust
Madness begins at home
His body is here now under the mossy grass
I send the worms to work
especially on his brain
Creepy bastard brain curled inside a treacherous skull
I will do a dance to celebrate the end of his rule
And eat these sweet cakes with a mouth free of Papa’s snake
I twirl spinning lovely in my red and white dress
Happy happy is his Death
My own special Day of the Dead
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