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you forgot to take it
to the curb
you forgot to empty it
your mind had been full
overflowing with the memories of us
it sat there for awhile
you wanted to keep them but
they began to
decompose
perish
rot to their cores
and the smell lingered
you started to bag it all up
one by one you put pieces of us
in a jet black
plastic bag
with a twist tie
and walked us to the curb
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)
Devin Ortiz Mar 2018
Not long after I laid myself upon the Earth,
I began to grow roots, suckling the green.

Before you knew it, they borrowed farther,
Far from me, crawling faster away.

To be so toxic, yet making myself at home.
I needed some good, to prune the bad.

As I gaze at the storm clouds rolling,
I wait for the rain, but not before the tears.

There is a bitterness, rotten deep within.
To be so disconnected, it is painful.

So I lay, disgusted with my own ruin,
Wishing the woods would cure me.

What a dumb little lie, who do I kid.
I will decompose with pestilence.

How dare I come here, how dare I weep.
But here I'll stay, a graveyard of grief.
Crimsyy Oct 2016
I don't want to write poetry.
I want to rip apart my brain
and feed it to my thoughts of decay.
I do not want to think of you,
because it is evidently clear
that you cannot be a constant,
So I shall extract you
(and all the thoughts, words,
and phrases too)
from my mind.
You may not enter this home,
I locked you out long ago.
Your little petty games
did you no favours,
tied tight to immaturity,
it looked too much like
not committed,
so I sent it all away from me.
In this case, not knowing no grey
is an advantage,
I would rather not choose to
sedate my appetite with your
little crumbs of "love"
(good morning, how are you?
every birthday).
It may take years but I won't forget
that I am not in the business
of decomposing yet.
Hannah Apr 2015
Will you decompose me?
Take me apart piece by piece
Bring me back to my roots
Until I am
                     no
                              more

Your branches, they reach out
Scratchy and rough, but warm
In your embrace, I am vulnerable
But at the same time strong

Now flourish, the flowers
And fruits of our labour
Don't leave, I'll be powerless
I know you will, sooner or later

That's when I truly decompose
Not with you, not even close
I decompose to nothing
Exactly what I am to you
Born of Fire Jun 2014
Come child,
Wash those cobwebs from your eyes,
let not that sadness clutter your vision.
I know your mistakes and faults keep you up,
wrap them away, your silk thoughts, and bury them
within you.
We all know misery thrives on sorrow,
and infected hands handle peace.
I see the black veins in your gaunt hands,
and soon we will all know ,
the messenger of mercy, is the heart-
becoming silent, only speaking with a language of tears.
And not even you my dear,
can escape from the sticky entanglement
that murders beauty and passion.

— The End —