Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Em Oct 2023
These shrunken hands
Sinking beyond my body
Common places, common days
My arms dissipate, regardless

My ribs compress like cliche metaphors
A long, drawn out CPR
My lips sting
And my body laughs
Like the dying rattle of a miser man

And my eyes
Dry like the wind

I sit
Lukewarm tea at my tongue
As I stare and try and try
Make this mess at my chest and my skin

Make my box of random trinkets
All different sizes but each in
Their own, small compartment
A mess but my mess and my mess I understand
But these clothes spill from my drawers and from
The bottom of my bed
And soon it’s just itching polyester
And nails-on-chalkboard fibre

My face is drawn tight
On the brink of spilling static
Cause under these nerves
And vessels and sinew

I’m just soda and mentos
And time
Em Jul 2023
Butterflies are scavengers
Fluttering colours over a corpse
So read between the lines

Something, something
And death
did you know, purple emperors prefer rotting flesh over flowers
Em Jul 2023
And to love
Oh to love
The Unseen Ones hate us
They hate for we choose hate
When we can love where they cannot

Dance! The world dances!
The rocks the soil the river the trees
The worms the fish the birds the city
Waiting for your next miracle

Wake from this dream
Like putting in ear buds
Forgetting you turned the volume
Up up up

It’s the folly of man
To think us a march
Of drumbeats and boot-steps
Of razor edge lines

Bloom! The flowers last a day!
So cherish them!
Hail them!
We may never live another life
Em Jul 2023
In the madness, I found clarity
The singular eye in the storm
rolling and twitching
Promising pain and whispering understanding
And with that clarity
I stood laughing
Blood soaking my hands
The storm is peaceful
I look up,
and see nothing but carnage sky
Em Jul 2023
There is a desolation to grief
Hidden, buried
Rotting and writhing in the depth of the soul
And no one can see the blackened heart
Aching and curing in tears of salt

There is a wrenching to pain
Gripping, seeping
The infection and corruption of touch
Like everything could crumple
And everyone can break

There is a madness to comfort
Clinging, blinding
Feeling closer to light, to wind
Crawling up a staircase
Of bodies you’ve dragged in pursuit

There’s a silence to acceptance
Waking up from a puddle of blood and spit
Finding the faces that mouthed your name
Moths, circling the lightbulb
In your own rusted cage
there’s the hand that comforts,
then there’s the teeth that eats whatever’s meat
Em May 2023
Not all poetry work
and not all poetry speak
but somewhere
out there
there’s a word or a phrase
that will let you learn
how to cry again
Next page