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Chris Apr 2019
Crows
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 2019
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
3/28/2018
faa Mar 2019
Whether it was the sun’s aurelian caress
Or the serene strokes of moonlight lulled
Across its keys carved with much finesse
Monochrome yet its beauty never dulled

A sonata lightly, it hummed, reverberating
Across gently, waves of sound, resonating
The tune seemed to hush the grounds
Effortlessly silencing the cry of hounds

Each tap across the tonal stairs had slashed
The breast of the wounded, whom had clashed
Echoes of nature’s enthrallment seems to linger
The music still bewitching the conducting finger

Corpses waltzing to the nightly sombre dirges
Pleading to allow their rest under the birches
How the sonata tortures all that it imprisons
How the sonata torments all those that listens
Chris Feb 2019
Sad
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 ugly misery.
That rotten corpse.
It's me, but I'm alive,
Still kicking and screaming,
But I will taste no victory.
Amaranthine Feb 2019
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.
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)
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 swarm 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.
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