Jemy Francillon — Gomez Bids Farewell to Morticia


To the worms that will live and run like fingers throughout your hair, the maggots that will grease their lips while feeding from yours, and the spiders hiding in the dark of your eyes—I cry envy!

My darling, mi amor, mon chéri. Morticia. Looking at you in your death, you are more beautiful than I've ever seen. The inimitable moon couldn't glow as you do here. That we are apart now is but the briefest rupture, warm the fires for me, for I will see you soon enough. Hell has no burn like that of our love. My doomed soul is scorched for the beating of my heart.

Your slender fingers, porcelain and icy, clasped so tightly about each other, send chills through me. Ah, to pull them apart and run my lips from tip to hand to arm to crook then shoulder before ending at what is now your fly feast. Let them fatten I suppose, the world deserves a taste and I cannot be so selfish.

Ah but even the flowers will suckle from your mound! I hate them! No roses and lilies will bloom fat and full from you, there'll be no more than weeds in the dirt I'll till over you.

Now as you fester, Fester mourns. His light has grown dim. Pugsley's even lost his appetite and Wednesday refuses to torture him. MaMa has taken to talking to the bats and Thing, oh poor Thing, moves only to wipe away Lurch's enormous tears.

Won't your daemon come to me—possess me and take me over? Infiltrate me darling and I'll be a willing host, you will not be exorcised, I am strong enough for two. Or this house? Take this house. Darling you'll make the most beautiful poltergeist. I already feel you in the drafts through the cracks in the walls, let me hear you in the creaking of the floors, the rattling of the doors, and the tap tap tap on the roof as it pours.

How many more tomorrows will mock my hopes of waking from some strange potion? How many more yesterdays will have been wasted in lament? Oh my love, my dear forever, my pallid queen, where is my death elixir to free me from the poison of life?

Let no Devils tempt you or cool their heels in your fires, I will be with you. Half-whole, low, and dismal I will catch the eye of none but vultures until I've reached you.

Deathly yours,