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I S A A C Mar 3
loosely based on events that never took off
I refuse to let it die out, I can save some
of the memories, wash away the dirt on my name
play with the energies as if you were here all the same
as if I can hear you calling out my name, or whispering
my heart is whimpering looking for hot hands
to cradle my cranium and explore my wetlands
you were just my type of man, my perfect poison
I was just your type of victim, the perfect person
for you to disrespect, neglect, and gaslight
for you to pretend we were friends until that night
where you stripped me of more than my rainbow light
Yvonne Nice Oct 2021
The shovel is in the same place I always leave it
Numbly I think to myself of the caked grime that’ll require a shower
as I perform a stand up routine for the nth time
Twigs crack under my boots

How often do I come here?

The number is unclear
and dirt pile grows

A burning cold settles over me like fog

I dig a little faster

I always have to end up in these situations, don't I?

It’s shallow, barely enough to work,
but then again they all are
“Lift with your knees, not your back”
I’ll have to thank whoever told me that later
A resounding grunt echoes throughout,
and I finish the job
The surrounding ground is ridden with raised mounds

How many again?

One… two… three… four…
Too many others I don’t have the time to count

I do, I just don't want to
Not after last time

Turning on my heel, I walk away
leaving the bodies I bury to rot at the crevices of my mind
Elizabethanne Sep 2021
I have dirt between my teeth
Between my bed sheets
It falls out of my hair every time I move
It’s beneath my fingernails
no amount of scrubbing will make them clean
& I’m always knee deep
in the graves of all the people I have loved
I keep digging them up
Every time I fall asleep
since I’m sure I've made a mistake
Only to bury them a little deeper
When I don’t like what they have to say
mark soltero Jun 2021
the fool
created his own woes
sorrows laid into his red nose
dirt fills his mind
nothing pure and full of sin
sadistic miseries fill him within
the fool only knows negatives
his life called for nothing but ridicule
if only the fool knew
that he could command an audience
he rather cry in silence
die and rot away to the dirt that used to fill him
Nikita May 2021
Tight in my grip
I feel your nails slip
Digging deep
Digging hard
She says to me
He left me a card
Petrichor May 2021
Dirt
         You've turned into dirt.

Twisted away in fragile positions,
You've turned into dirt.
          How does it feel to be this vulnerable?

To be plucked from your home, and bought with dirt to be sold off to the husband who forgot his wife's birthday?

To be called 'beautiful', only to be left rotting away?
To sit beside a bed of 'beautiful' red roses, who think they'll be safe forever. To know they'll turn into you, you who has moulded into dirt.

These eyes fall on you now,
   they feel guilt,
      they feel remorse,
(they feel happy?)
          they feel like a murderer.

They run to drench you with water.

                           The poor white tulips,
                                              and the poor pink roses
                     will you be fixed from this phase of dirt?
Here is to those bouquets of flowers the lucky ones received.
Perhaps, you were lucky,
perhaps the flowers were not.

PS. I've written a poem after a year so it's definitely not my best work, not even close. Perhaps as I continue, it may get better?
Svetoslav Apr 2021
I stand in the place where I stood before
Thinking of the time that is long gone
I remember how I laughed and cried here
Dreaming for this time to reach the dawn again

I look at the place of my former house
Seeing how fast time went by
I am grabbing myself a handful of dirt
Letting my emotions take over me

This house has been ruined by time
Angering me to take an immediate action
Only dust has left from the place of my lifetime
I throw the dust there to fill the abstraction
Diesel Apr 2021
Sorry I haven't laid water your stems
The problems of life had taken me by

And forgive me for the browning that shows
So often it seems my curtains lay tight

I confess that I should have fixed your leaves
And handled your nose and straightened your hair

Or on the inside where always you keep
And clean up the mess that got everywhere

I could have more watered and showered your skin
But busy I was conversing with she

And dry is your dirt, and tears come out dry,
Yet proud is my plant, so gentle and keen.
blake Mar 2021
today i felt like laying down
and sleeping soundly in the ground

i'd decompose with all the bugs
that died from overdose on drugs

my hips would grind against boney narcs
like pornstars and pervs in a public park

yes, i'd like to be six feet under
singing with drug-induced wonder
man i rlly just want to be a worm
also i'm sober???? and i write this ****?????
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