I don’t know how to start or finish this draft

I started an outline but I haven’t found a rhyme or rhythm scheme I can use. I don’t feel inspired. I was going to look for random rhymes or song forms but I don’t feel like doing anything with this:
Blacklight In Wuhan (Part 1, draft 0)

Many times there have been
screams in the night
when Grandma’s spirit asks
about her pen pal

Grandma is dead.
So is her hair dresser.
I’ve been to two funerals by video
but it’s not what you think.
The pen pal has disappeared.

Everyone misses Grandma.
Many knew of her, some
knew her. It’s been odd times.

Grandma had a Chinese pen pal
who was a foreign medical student
studying here, had passed the USMLE
had passed the TOEFL and everything.
The student’s now a doctor
now a scientist. Grandma was
fond of her.

Many times
Grandma was down in a funk:
Something about the Great Depression,
the War and the slaughter again.

So many screams in the night
when Grandma is asking
about her penpal

There is so much beauty yet
in the quixotic world: the
flowers and designs
on the body bags.

Grandma told us
days never come lightly
when the night overwhelms
before the elegant cry

There is no honor
in a gift of dead flowers
though she loved them nonetheless.

Such beauty in a sad world
my Grandma always said, is
just decoration, and
she favored flower designs
on chic shopping bags

Let the designers rise to the task
to make pretty body bags
to rise to praise, and yea
by the dawn’s surly knights
oh hey can you see our deeds
in the corona of the Sun
particles of sunset and doom.

Everyone misses Grandma.
Many knew of her, some
knew her. It’s been odd times.

Grandma told wild stories.
Very entertaining. She was
not distant ever
regardless of rules

Grandma stabbed herself to death
with a scissor in a beauty salon, and
the owner was shot to death while
grabbing a policeman’s gun.
It’s the usual. However,
the pen pal is missing.

Grandma left
me a stack of papers
from the pal, now a doctor.
Grandma loved
her dear mystery friend
from Wuhan. She claimed
her friend worked in a laboratory.

I have the correspondence
written in Chinese, and
the blacklight she had
asked me to buy for her.

The letters came slowly
sometimes through Hong Kong
and Singapore, but sometimes
through Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan

Grandma was fond
of her Wuhan girl
as she called her.

Just before her death
she reminded me that
it wasn’t important
to read the beautiful
Chinese calligraphy
because it was unimportant

It was important to read
the invisible secret writing
written between the lines.

Read in the dark
she had said.

New letters continued
to come from the
missing Wuhan girl.

I read them in the dark
with the Black Light.

Apparently, she is
patient zero for the world, and
they are hunting for her

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