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Rayma Sep 16
I can’t help but think that I’m not the only one,
But wonder it so.
We can all wish for something we cannot have.
We can all chase our dreams,
in the dark,
grasping blindly at shooting stars and wishing wells.

I like to think that wishes on stars
really do come true.
I like to think that,
one day,
things will be different,
And I will find my way back to you.
written for my third Creative Writing prompt - an exquisite corpse made in class, where we had to keep at least two consecutive lines. The first three lines are from the original.
Dum dum dum
The dreaded sound of drum comes.

My corpse is painted, full coverage of red
How can a body be alive while the soul is dead?
Words,  words are knives that aims to ****

Killing is no fun without suffering
Pleasure grows when pain last longer
Break the victim slowly
Just one at a time and don't forget to help them up
Bring them hope and see them stand up to their knees
Now, time to throw more knives until they fall
Let the crumbling hope be their last straw

Do you feel more pleasure?
Watching the hope crumbles as life disappear

In martyrdom I suffer
Yes, such idiocracy still exist
While my identity is gone
no more hope for this unknown entity
But in the same fate, you should not fall.

Dum dum dum
The dreaded sound of drum is gone.
I'd like to remind everyone that verbal abuse is real and it affects a person's mental health. Let us fight it.
A conscious corpse gently thuds as is sustains with but a few precious sips of air to delay it's deteriorating state.

Which words proved too fatal?
Those too often written by loved ones across already cold and clammy skin?
Where a sick smile did mar deaths boastful grin.

Were black words penned bleeding red why it seems so eternally condemned
to dance 'round with darkness in the festering ground to surrender its sanity in an unmarked grave

What proved too fatal, too deep
we're those words etched into bone
that were completely it's own.
It's own plague of pestilence
that seeped from self-carved scars
that mutilated more than flesh

But, Why did you only bare witness to a souls  lonely demise
observing the light leave through it's slowly emptying eyes

So now I ask you!
Was it  not your lifeless embrace that did erase
a once quickened flame that suffocated in sorrow.

Are you not to blame?
for the blood red stain
soaked into that cold clammy skin.

Do you not feel remorse that HIS condemned soul now sleeps on your calloused heart
                           without end...

and while you bare the weight of HIS peace
isn't it you that  now becomes
the conscious corpse breathing in only
shallow sips of precious air,
looking on with newly empty eyes
for the warm embrace you yourseld did deny.
lenore Jul 7
i think i might have a mole.

my teeth are dug out of their rows.
my tongue is pulled out at the root.

my nails are shriveled up thorns,
my wrists wilted bouquets of bones.

my ribs metal jaws which enclosed
something that bit off its foot.

my skull’s overturned,
seeds spilling out of the neck.

what is a corpse but a flower bed?
Troves of rotting treasures
Marked the highest morning tide
Where the ocean’s foaming tongue
Left its print upon the land.
I trifled with the sea wrack
That was scrawled upon the sand
When a seaborne scent came wafting;
Onward sailing to the shore.

Pale, aghast, I stood in awe
To curse the wretched thing I saw.

Yet counting footprints from the scene
The vision haunts me all the more;
Forever sailing to the fore
Upon the winds of sordid thoughts,
Where my mind is ever stained,
Though one question there remains -
How a body, once alive,
Could be so full of eels.
Asher May 30
so much red, and none of it light.
the way it stole beneath fingers,
life spilling across the floor until
that horrible cusp, the instant when it ended.
stopped being a person and became a body.
No transition, no ease, gone and there, there and gone, gone.
bloodstained fingers searching out skin.
They whispered their sins,
listen, look at me, I’m here.
Corpse, a simple word that did so little,
failed to describe what was now a shell.
the same colour as a soul, but empty,
useless the moment it left veins.
Violence begets violence, monsters breed monsters,
rising up beside the red. shadows twitch,
looking down at itself right before death.
Bits and pieces from Our Dark Duet, second book in the This Savage Song series by Victoria Schwab
Jon Thenes May 3
The body dies :
A crumpling
not an implosion
as I turn inward
on my own corpse
In a desperate gasp
for sustenance and revival
The result ? :
A flourish!...
but, then, a puff
The Surround caves me
collects arrears upon my vehicle
I am to make no feast
the body is the process
Chris Apr 3
A girl walked through the field one morning,
free of worries, doubts and woes.
The path was clear, forever going,
Through the corn field through the rows.

She walked and leaped and laughed and sang,
Until she stopped to see the view,
Something strange has stopped her legs.
She would have walked on if only she knew.

There across her stood a stake
With a strawman tied and bound,
The crows sat on him,sat and ate,
But they didn't make a sound.

A scarecrow- she thought, but amused,
I've never seen one this upclose,
But isn't all for which he's used,
To chase off those nasty crows?

A girl drew closer and so did the clouds,
The birds shrieked and flew away,
The girl went pale and screamed out loud,
She aged a century that sunny day.

There on the stake bound with rope,
In the corn field attracting crows,
Hung, half eaten, beyond hope.
The girl's neighbour, farmer Joe.

She kept silent after that,
As the gray clouds spat out rain.
And the wind blew of the scarecrow's hat,
To reveal the farmers brain.
What most of us don't see.
lila Mar 30
did you know
1 in 5 women
will be ***** during her lifetime
but every 1 has a name
and every name has a story
and no one story
is ever the same
mine isn’t any exception

it didn’t happen at all
like u think it did
there were no shadowy figures
reaching out rough hands
to pull me into an empty alley
as i walked the streets alone at night
8 out of 10 rapes are by someone you know

my body wasn’t a rag doll
to be thrown against a brick wall
while ****** objections flew
from my mouth like cannonballs

it was just us
in a space that was ours
a hushed no living and dying on my lips
the scary sweet nothings
whispered in my ear
must have drowned out the tides
rolling in and streaming
down my cheeks
because your hand never once left my throat
and you didn’t stop

i was nothing more than a shiny object
laid out on a dingy sheet
for you to devour
made to please

but when i rusted
i was abandoned
right where u took me
a corpse to rot
amongst the flowers
but if u squint hard
i may be pretty enough
to use again
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