A kitchen knife was sticking straight up from her back

With her bleeding on the floor, a stranger would be horrified

At seeing all the blood and gore that’s everywhere.

I just calmly walked towards her and smiled, saying

“This will be quite difficult for us to tidy up, today.”

Though she did not move, I heard a quiet little chuckle

And her lips drew up into a happy smile.

Every day, when I come home, my wife pretends to be dead

I’m often awed by her creativity All her deaths are different, so I’m always

left there wondering What kind of death, tomorrow, will she show me?

She pretended once to have an arrow shot straight through her head

And once she died a soldier’s death, with gun in hand.

Still, the most ridiculous was dressing as a lifeless sunfish.

I just had the urge to close the door and leave her.

Cleaning up these morbid scenes is difficult, as it would seem

With all those bloodstains all across the floor and carpet

Sometimes, she cooks dinner with the arrow still stuck in her

It’s surreal to see my undead wife be cooking

Every day, when I come home, my wife pretends to be dead

I’m often awed by her creativity Nonetheless, the compliments I give her just

encourage her So I’ve just learned to roll with what she

shows me When we were dating, even though we were quite

busy, We would always find the time for us to spend

together Driving nightly down the streets or spending

weekends at the beach I’d always be so happy just to be there

with her

Then, we got married and at work, I was promoted And I started to enjoy the time I spent in

the office Often I would work away, forgetting that my

wife was staying Home alone all day just waiting for me.

Every day, when I come home, my wife pretends to be dead

I wonder what her reasons for that may be Does she wish that our relationship would

be as it once was And does the blame for changing it fall on me?

Every day, when I come home, my wife pretends to be dead

And so we spend our evenings, just her and me

If our love is destined to be manifested in this way

At least we can express our love vividly

Every day, when I come home, my wife pretends to be dead

I’m often awed by her creativity All her deaths are different, so right now

I’m left here wondering What kind of death has she prepared to show me?