I never thought of wanting to touch a corpse.

I never dreamed of dreaming of the dead.

I never saw myself as the girl who explores

the cadaverous bodies left in the morgue.

And yet, I do now. 

Was it the fascination of a still frame?

Was it the cold blood that ran over my warm fingers?

Was it the remnent of a human life

that graced the operating table?

And yet, I will not ever know.

They say it takes a special person to love the dead.

They say it will take years to accomplish anything influential.

They say it will suck the youthfulness of my being

and leave me as empty as the corpse on the table.

And yet, I cannot fathom doing anything else.

I know my path will be never ending.

I know at times it my seem impossible.

I know I am commiting myself to a life

of lifelessness and solitde.

And yet, I stay happy in my choice.