Lilies may sprout from inside my chest,

Coughed up petals escaping my lips

But still, I can not reason with you, my beloathed

For my coffin still is empty.


I do not shatter mirrors,

I do not burn my scrapbooks,

But still, you insist upon me

Even though my coffin is still empty.


You scour and search,

Academia has no answers

For this wretched ‘daughter killer’

Yet my coffin is still empty.


Isolation and exorcism,

Prayer and pity

Ignore me or entertain it,

Because my coffin is still empty.


Germination and fermentation.

Turn to excavation, a reformation.

Identification allows for transformation.

And this coffin will remain empty.