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Sara Feb 2021
I could stare at myself in the  mirror for hours.

It starts in my extremities.
a chill creeps its way into my abdomen,
and cements my joints.

The bacteria residing in my intestines
dine on my organs for supper,
they blow up my stomach until I'm
pregnant with air, my non-existent baby
forcing thick liquid out every orifice.

It tickles,
when the flies visit my rotted skin.
Their steps light and playful,
turn sinister, and force their way into my
open mouth to lay their eggs.
I wait, as the larvae devour
my brain tissue.

When I have nothing left to give,
I'll pull down my lower eyelid
and let the maggots slide out.
Orion Sep 2019
But oh,
How would my chest feel if it caved in on itself?

The sheer overwhelming feeling of falling,
stomach lifting into my ribcage, lungs into my mouth

How would it feel if it all came out at once,
If I enveloped myself, starting at the throat
I’d get such a sick pleasure
knowing that the blood in my veins rushed to my ears as I ran my hands through my scalp and have them land on my throat
I don’t want to breathe,
I want to be light headed and miles away from a betraying body

A pipe to run through the top of my hip bone,
run a fishing wire through it to catch the cares I once gave
I want a pile of bricks to smother the bones below my breast

Cut my spine clean in half and
I’ll marvel at the sky above me and
I’d never move from that spot

Leave me to stare and stare at a sky that’s as unforgiving as the passage of time
Letting my skin turn to leather and my blood to rust

I’d smile as grass grew through the holes in my ribcage
I’m part of something larger than I am,
a body that experiences death in its own time–
What an adventure it is to rot as I live!
Poetic T Jan 2019
Woven flesh knotted with the confines
of my inner plague.
             A misery of reflections that I would
wish never to gaze upon, as I'm my own
               medusa, confined in stone impressions.

And I transfixed upon my own morbidity.

But then you gave me a tattered box.
                    It's confines rattled like aged bones.
A melody of death sombre in its gifts.
                  I collected them and used the
              webs of decay to knit them hanging
                        like lynched memories swaying harshly.

With this chime of
                               syllable decomposition,
I heard your message.
That even though every gift is concealed in a darkness,
                                          there is always a moment
where its brighter than any luminosity given by the light.
A Simillacrum Dec 2018
Look and see
it's right there, splashed upon the screen.
Pixel will dance,
pixel will craft, for those
within those means.
A whole world all
apart from worlds
where I walk less than wander.
Everyone looks dazzling,
and so together, too.
It was sad once, now the sad's passed,
and I'm mostly confused.
Faces on the screen share their
pointed lives like it means a thing.
Meaning lives in the thought itself. . .
Dazzling. And so together, too.
If this game makes so much sense,
what is wrong with me?
What is wrong with me?
In the middle of a clearing I am greeted by the damp grass, resting with a stagnancy never known to me before. The moss growing in between my fingernails and toes, embracing my once soft figure.

Welcoming to a new home, unconsumed by modern structures, the ants caressing in my loving arms, covering each blister. The amount of days I have laid here are past recall, but far more than the spiders held in each pocket.

The trees being the only witness to my presence, slightly shading me from rays of the sun that fixate so much on my inflated epidermis. The branches and leaves hiding, protecting me from the concrete and calls.

The shades of purples, blues, and yellows on my body complement the flowers blooming around my ears. My mouth slightly ajar, a surprised expression of not knowing how loud blossoms thrive in such silence.

The bees surrounding my cranium, whispering secrets that had never been told to any other humankind. I speak only in lavender, as my native tongue was dropped along the classified path I took.

The tall grass beginning to clasp around, tying me down as if begging to never let me leave. Slowly swallowing me whole, creating a barrier around my delicate frame, shielding from each rainfall and heatwave undoubtedly to come.

My eyes melt away, not needing the perception to see the world that was so harsh to me anymore, only needing to feel the sympathy it gives me now as it helps with this inevitable  transformation.

Never have I felt an immense sensation of biophilia until it welcomed me with such vigor. The ground I stepped on from birth now providing solace that I could not sought for. The gravel and dirt giving vast compassion when I was unable to ask.

I’m ****** into the land, hidden from the roars of others I once knew. My ears plugged from a name now so foreign to me, to go back to a place that I will never remember, and that will soon forget about me too.
neth jones Aug 2018
With a raffling breath
I sate death neatly
I am now in trust
And being played into new life
There's a swelling of new strifes
and wavings from within
Heats of organisms
Worlds accelerating
Gases waste and gases invitations
take place where I have been
A celebration
A bedding
If only The Humans would leave
the 'Dead Body' be
Just when I am finally achieved
They make a bother
I'll make out a doner card
No, a placard
"No Preservation Upon Death !
Corpse Rights Remain !"
Brujo Alligatore May 2015
Read the entry on decomposition.
Disagree? Go see your physician.
I thought I should do this for the spiritual value of belittling myself
Brujo Alligatore May 2015
I don't want to rhyme with decomposition
All of it is too corny
But how sad.
Decomposition is where I'm headed.
And the idea of the process is so full of poetic juice,
But rhyming with that word would cheapen it.
As would a pun about de-composing this poem.
just **** yourself and make an appointment with your physician.
[******* emoji]
Alternate title: Ode to the 'Decomposition' wiki (no seriously read the decomposition wiki entry. It's fascinating!)
Joseph Hart Jul 2014
I dug a little and I cried a little
On a hillside that was steep,
So my mama could sleep.

Each dig I dig it‘ll
**** me, gotta dig a grave six feet deep,
I dug a little and I cried a little

The birds I hear them tweet,
I don’t want to see her go so I piddle,
I want my momma to sleep.

Someday on this hill we’ll meet
The dirt is hard and rock riddled,
I dug a little and I cried a little

I’m the only one to do this deed,
The worms will have their nibble,
but my mama will sleep

I’ve finished my job and I’ll have to venture,
I’ve dug so long the ground is sleet.
I dug a little and I cried a little
So my mama could sleep.
To Libby and her Mother.

— The End —