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jdm Jun 2013
I bleed into my pen
and leak my sorrows on the pages.
I shudder from the movement
underneath my broken skin.
They bite me, they eat me,
they **** me from within.
They crawl so subtly
these monsters in my body
who feast upon my sin.
© JDMaraccini 2013
Trojan Aug 2021
They say the city has no landscape
No life
Nothing but concrete
Nothing but steel

They say that
Without ever looking
At the city
In the night

Feral cats
Squirming bugs
And although the trees are small
They loom over small unlit paths

Lonely dogs
Flying moths
And although the buildings are imposing
They too are part of it all

They're our homes
And the homes of rodents
Pigeons
And even more squirming bugs

The city's not dead
But we are
July, 2021
Brett Jun 2021
Insects have invaded the safe haven
Of my home
Wood warped from an endless squall
They slink through the cracks
Crawling on the walls
Product of neglect
and,
A refusal to suture open wounds
I spray and Raid them away,
like
The Nuclear Option ever solved a problem
I train my gaze to look the other way
See, sunken minds can forget for days
but,
When I sit and stare
I see them polka dotted everywhere
Skeeving, dry heaving and pulling out my hair
Cold sweats as I am combing through my bed
The critters have crept and nested
Deep inside my head
All my worrisome thoughts
Have kept the insects fed
Nature provides endless insights into life
Francie Lynch Mar 2021
Lovlee ladeebug, ye'll nae be flien hame,
Ye're a fine wee red beedel
Tha nipp'd me fleshee arm.
Ye've nae hame afire,
Ye've nae wee ones alane;
Ye bit me lovelee ladeebug,
'nd ye'll nae be flien hame.
Having a bit of fun.
blake Mar 2021
today i felt like laying down
and sleeping soundly in the ground

i'd decompose with all the bugs
that died from overdose on drugs

my hips would grind against boney narcs
like pornstars and pervs in a public park

yes, i'd like to be six feet under
singing with drug-induced wonder
man i rlly just want to be a worm
also i'm sober???? and i write this ****?????
Man Jan 2021
i was an insect
on a divine windshield
a speck of dust
on an otherwise stainless garb
when wiper blades swept me down
in my infancy
a young brood
i am guts
i am blood
i am gross things
Man Jan 2021
inside of me a storm rages
inside of me an old man has a stroke
inside the fire blazes
fresh bricks of burning coal

there is emptiness in me
and it fills me up
so much so

i drown everyday
drinking up a cup
of nothing but the old

made of memories
mostly bad, but some good
adding to them each day
naught but rotting wood

and your family
termites
and your friends
pests
and your lover
a lumberer
Mitch Prax Dec 2020
Imagine us
the size of ants
dancing among the
flowers and the grass,
the bugs and
the bees.
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