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Chris Feb 3
That crying child.
It's me, but I don't cry.
A man grown, It's unseemly.
That bitter man.
It's me, but I still smile.
I hide the **** misery.
That rotten corpse.
It's me, but I'm alive,
Still kicking and screaming,
But I will taste no victory.
Amaranthine Feb 1
I promised myself,
To take that secret to the grave.
I even dug my own grave.
Buried myself within it,
Keeping that secret locked,
In my beating heart.
I didn't know,
Some ghoul would take it out,
From my corpse,
By feeding on my dead heart.
Leah Jan 19
dead air hangs heaviest on phone calls cut short
the static hummed like an ancient hornets nest in my head
deep imprints left from landline buttons on my cheek
i thought if i pressed hard enough
i could pretend plastic resembled the feeling of his face against mine
i thought if i pressed hard enough
i could pretend the static sounded like his voice in my ear

he told me once that he liked my skin
but what he meant is that he liked it better on the floor
i would have never guessed how quickly hungry hands could eat me alive
but i wanted their starvation to be my salvation
i always knew i was a better window than a wall
but I didn’t know how easy it was to see through me

seven syllables like bee stings
my throat began to swell like his words themselves were anaphylactic
and as i began to see stars i pretended i was in shock
he left me like a bullet exits a body and i guess that’s what i get for loving a loaded gun
but I’ve always been known to be the first to pull the trigger
roulette was just a way to pass the time between waking and sleeping

i was a phantom of longing and lament
i missed his hands even when they were around my neck
i wasn’t a woman
i was shades of blue and violet and unwarrented violence

the perverse pleasure of pain
left like a malady in my mind that spread across my nervous system
and seeped its way into my bone marrow
the only chemo i could find were empty beds and dark rooms
indiscriminately i handed myself to the radiation of sterile hands and nameless faces
i wanted them to rearrange my molecules
or at least help me shed the skin he had liked so much

etched into my eyelids in glowing persistence were the words he left me with
i hung onto them, i gripped them tightly, white knuckled desperation i clung to the sound of your voice rattling like a chain link fence in my mind
“you will never be enough”
i wanted so badly for you to be the cure i made myself love-sick
**** and limerence felt like love even when the landline went dead
i realized that corpses have a funny way of staying just alive enough to get through the day
Sara Kellie Dec 2018
Under the birthstones
in the carcass yard
is where the flesh tombs lie.
Decomposing for three long years.
Eradicating memories,
dreams and fears.
Becoming next, the black gloop
treacle of putrification.
Now bones, just old bones
is the remain of what was once,
a spirit with a name.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Birthstones = gravestones
Carcass yard = graveyard
Flesh tomb = a body (alive or dead)
Kylie Oct 2018
She just wants to die,
Near the track she plays,
Pacing the parallels deeply,
Already with decay.

Ties herself to the fence
with a triple knot,
No one will remember,
They’ll forget, they all forgot.

The sound of trains comes quickly,
Too fast to run away,
Closes her eyes and breathes,
“Nothing left to say”
Lost Soul Oct 2018
"Do what I say no matter the cost"
I am what they want me to be
My feelings are numb
My soul is lost
It's fine if I'm not whole
All they need is my body
My bones cry out
My skins is a sheet covering the holes
I have little energy to even breathe
I cry till my lungs have no air
I stuff my face in a pillow
My jaw aches while I clench my teeth
All the oxygen in the room leaves
Dark thoughts sworn my head
Depression holds me while I heave
I could just die
I feel worthless, I am nothing
I watch as everyone leaves
I don't know how long I can do this
Got to get away
Its not like I'll be missed
No one around me cares
I'm a breathing corpse
I guess its true
Life's not fair
Billie Eilish
erin Oct 2018
The necromancer danced on her grave. The ground shook with every step the witch took, rumbling the ground beneath and making the corpse she had planted cling to the cool dirt for dear death. And then, the dirt began to give.

Sunlight burned on the girl’s blue skin, turning it a ghastly shade of porcelain like Wednesday Addams. She rolled over in her grave, and closed her eyes, refusing the inevitable fate of the undead. But her wings started flapping, and she rose up, the witches hand clawing into her back and dragging her back to life. And as the screeching of the megalomaniac forced her wide eyes open and the dried ancient blood away, she wished she were dead.
i'd appreciate criticism- i really want to improve my poetry game. if you can guess what this is about, i'd love to hear it.
Rajinder Sep 2018
You, the ashen alyssum
homing in on dark bushes
breeding maggots
feeding on flesh.  

You the fetid parasite  
carrion, the rotten stink
a toxin laced tongue
devouring pith.

You, the stench of
malignant blossoms
a venomous creeper, you
had to attract snakes.

You live among the graves
the poison pollinator,
a corpse floret
of foul odour.

You the venin
cloaked in smirk
a shrew, spiked with malice
must be crushed,
must die.
sky Sep 2018
You’ve never felt so hollow before. So light. Counting the numbers over and over again. Watching them go up, up, sky rocketing. Then watching the boat sink, but you don’t feel like you’ve descended any more than you did yesterday, or a year ago. You wrap it around yourself tightly, trying to crush your insides into your fist until there’s wiggle room. It could be worse, but it could also be better. So much better.
You dream of floating, but the anchor holds you down, allowing the waves to swallow you whole. You search for the bumps you’ll never find. But if you bend over far enough, then you can feel it protruding out of your back- your wings. Growing out until you can fly away.
As the tornado ***** you up, the number may be dropping, lower and lower, but you can feel yourself rising up. Someday, maybe, you’ll be able to touch the stars. Or even better, you’ll surpass them. You can find the unfindable. Achieve the unthinkable.
Someday, you’ll fly so high up, that you won’t need to feel the heavy wool dragging you back to Earth.
You spend hours staring at yourself. Hoping that if you look at the right angle, you’ll see yourself blossoming like a rose. But you’re not close to sprouting.
The creature standing before you in the mirror haunts your nightmares. It’s eyes are as lifeless as yours.
It’s tears as wet as your own.
You stare at it.
And you count.
You whisper.
Then eventually it drops.
Your reflections all that’s left.
The skeleton screams at you, but you look right through it, staring at the monster in your head. The one only you can see.
It looms around you, encasing you within its body.
Get it off! You sob. Clawing at your own flesh. Peeling away the monster until there’s nothing but skin and bone.
But it’s not enough.
It’ll never be enough.

There’s no one around to see you anymore. There’s no one around to point out the way you wear your collar bones like a diamond necklace.
Or how you dream of showcasing your hip bones like a trophy.
There’s no longer a ruler small enough to measure your waist.
There isn’t a number small enough to measure your dreams.
You’re alone.
But that’s alright.
You have the corpse in the mirror to be your best friend.
Rileigh Shanks Aug 2018
The river stretched out before me,
elven and expanseless.
I faced my opponent without fear or trembling,
my enthusiasm to succeed a far cry beyond healthy trepidation.
I dove headlong into the icy, brackish waters,
brazen and breathless,
determined to reach the far shore before first light.
I did not consider the confusion that would ensue.
The air was forced from my lungs, leaving me hollow,
hagridden and hapless.
I could feel my panic mounting as I pressed onward,
its thin fingers winding around my heart and clawing up my throat.
My vision began to dim, the world around me growing dark,
laden and lightless.
My teeth chattered, my muscles seized.
I could feel my flesh begin to convulse
as I was suddenly watching myself from above.
“Heartbroken and helpless,”
were the only words I could muster as I watched my struggle.
I was taking in too much water but could do nothing about it.
I’d strayed too far from shore and found myself stranded.
Misbegotten and meaningless.
That is what my death would be,
its story going unuttered and avoided,
the lips of my loved ones never being tainted by its recounting.
Panic-stricken and powerless,
I didn’t have the strength to keep swimming.
My arms and legs and chest burned with exhaustion.
I could no longer even see the far shore glittering in the distance.
Even and emotionless,
I allowed my limbs to go limp and my lungs to languish.
I slipped below the waves and let the weight begin to crush me.
I did this to myself.
Laden and lifeless;
I’d breathed my last, my cause of death an uncalculated gumption.
I took the leap with uninhibited **** for the journey ahead,
failing to count the cost or acknowledge the danger.
Misshapen and motionless,
my corpse danced beneath the surface, bobbing and swaying with the current,
cursed to float downstream for an endless eternity.
I’d done this to myself.
War-ridden and wordless,
my spirit writhed in agony.
If only I’d fought a little harder, been a little smarter, held on a little longer…
Maybe it wouldn’t have ended like this.  Maybe then I would have made it to shore.

A bend in the river gently curved before me.
Craven and colorless,
my corpse glided silently along the glassy surface of the water,
a sojourner doomed to serve the current as my unforgiving master,
drifting outside the realm of season and time.
Ashen and aimless,
the waves lapped insistently against my face and arms,
bidding my lifeless form to arise,
reminding me that I did not control them, for they owned me.
Oaken and offenseless,
I heard a voice whisper through the trees and along the river’s surface,
breaking the deafening silence of death
and causing the forest to thrum in tense anticipation.
Beholden and boundless
the motion of the river suddenly broke,
releasing my limp body from its eternal clutches,
expelling me from its unquestionable cycle.
Frozen and futureless,
my corpse moved toward the shore as if propelled by some unseen force,
my hair and clothes being tugged at by the low-hanging arms of willow trees,
drawing me closer to my destination.
Sudden and seamless
the still small voice came again,
beckoning me by name to breathe,
to return to the land of the living and carry on undaunted.
Awe-stricken and angstless,
I gasped as air was ****** into my lungs, a spear of Life driven into my chest.
I trembled as my hands gripped the earth,
feeling it move through my pallid fingers for the first time.
Golden and groundless,
I heard the voice once again,
inviting me into abundance and life,
promising me everything I’d died without knowing.
Forgiven and fearless
I stood up, the last vestiges of my grave dripping from my clothes.
I felt the world solid beneath my feet as I followed the voice of my Master.
My deathbed behind me, I did not look back.
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