Bones & Stories; Morgue Drawer

Magnetic as the moon –

No one could help

But love the lunatic

Who licked faces left and right

And hid every inch of his ongoing plight

Behind smiles and drugs

And the warmest of hugs


Now he’s lying cold in a morgue drawer

Lost and gone forever more


They’ll slice a V in his neck,

Bloodless flesh

Bleached yellow with death

Crack open his ribs

Weigh his heart, check it for size,

It was plenty big enough – no one’s surprised

They’ll test his toxic tissues

And take slivers of his brain

In that organ nothing will remain

Of the superstar he used to be.


Some people want to let the dead lie

And just lie down and cry

Because dead is dead

So sterilise it, synthesise it, powder it up

Take it away – don’t let me smell the stench of decay

But the fact is it’s all true

It’ll happen to you, it’ll happen to me

No one gets immortality

In the flesh

And that flesh, that fleshy vest

It comes off, it gets sliced and prodded

It lies in the ground and it rots

Bloodless with decomposition

Eyeballs fall back, gasses burst free

Veined purple with pooled lividity

Underneath –

That’s all any of us are

In the end.


In the end, I want answers

In the end, I want to see him

Even in this state –

It might seem real then

It might be final then

That he’s really gone, forever –

Misshapen and cold on the cutting room floor

In the cold, cold blood-scented air

Of a sterile cold morgue drawer

He’ll never style his hair again

And it might seem real to me

Some kind of epiphany.


Is it easier to let the dead live on?

In photos and stories

Of their joyous former glories

Or is it better to tell the truth?

To be perfectly ruthless

And grab it by the entrails

And pull them out until you see

Until you see the end of you and me.


I promise I’ll love you just as much,

Cold and stiff on a tray

I’ll just have to love you in a different way

Because you won’t talk back anymore

And your kisses are cold, they taste like frozen meat

There’s a tag dangling from your icy feet –

I’d want to warm you up.


Like you’d done something stupid

And taken too many pills

Then gone for a walk, got lost, caught a chill

I’d want to invite you back in for soup and a beer

But you’re never coming back here,

Are you?


You’re lying in a morgue drawer

I hope it doesn’t hurt your back

I want to give you a pillow and a duvet in there

But soon, you’ll be ash

Or beneath the earth

Crumbling away, never so pretty as on even your worst day


Just bones, just bones

And stories


Never forgotten.

I need to know how you died.

I need to know why you didn’t say goodbye –

That’s all.


Just bones and stories…

Just bones, and stories.


2 Responses to “Bones & Stories; Morgue Drawer”

  1. I love the imagery you have going in this poem. It conquers up so many feelings. I feel the cold of the morgue as feel as loss, pure horrific loss. This was a great piece, thank you for sharing this =D

    • Thank you ❤ I hope someday I can write a poem for Jazz that's happy, and silly, and full of words like 'Turbowang', because that would do him far more justice than this. I still can't believe it… I wish I could contact any of his family to just tell them how loved he was, but he always kept home and friendship separate (hence why the awful little sod managed to drive us all into a panic when he made a dark FB post then disappeared for 36 hours only to turn up in this bed, at home, asleep!!). But god…too many words and not enough, never enough, I'll never find the words to sum up Jazz even if I live to 100, and it's like, typing this, I can hear him over my shoulder asking what there is to sum up, just post some really good gay porn instead, that's all I need… I hope I never lose the echo of his voice in my head, his accent, mostly Brummie, the tiniest tinge of Indian. But fuck… This year has sucked SO hard, and to lose Jazz, Jazz of all people, of all the damn people in this city…gutting. He deserves a better poem, he deserves something joyful, but his story remains untold – family aren't releasing autopsy results… I just with I could phone them, find out, tell them how loved he was, what an impact he made..

      Unff, sorry, long tangent. 5am, and all that :-/

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