Dead Women Are Not Documentary Fodder

Pin me to your wall,

let me be your poster girl,

posted on lamp posts and Reddit threads,

with rhetoric and rumours.

Deconstruct my death,

before it’s even reported in full,

tell yourself you honour me with your curiosity,

tie me up in the tropes of true crime.

Dead girls never say no,

so,

regrettably,

you can call me what you like.

You bother me with your curiosity,

digging into my dirt,

your nails, filthy with fragments of my privacy,

an old life,

that I will never step into again,

now covered in oily fingerprints,

drenched in shame and assumption,

knee deep in necro stalking,

until a more captivating corpse comes along.