Steem-Pocalypse Poetry Day 14--Round 1

The mundanity of being a ghost

No more hunger anymore,
so these turkeys aren’t so appealing.
I want to watch them run free,
not away from gunfire, squealing.

Do turkeys squeal?
I guess I’m thinking of pigs.
I’d go hog-wild
to see my new digs.

Heaven, that is, or even hell.
A permanent end.
If I can’t have my life
then from life I’d be rend.

It’s becoming torture
to just watch and not act.
I should go back to the cave,
sneak in like a bat.

Plead with the fairies,
“Take me, I’m yours!”
To feel pain as they hit me,
watch my skin grow sores.

That would be joy!
It would make me feel alive.
It’d be better than this,
not surviving, to survive.