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Falling to earth with such a crash,
antenna waves and legs do thrash
as panic fills this quiet place,
invading visitor is fast to race.

It chirps so loud, out into the night
perhaps to explain its weary plight.
In hope that someone may attend
and come to rescue a dear friend.

Alas the latter does not show
but I think that it doesn't know,
as off it stalks with knowledge none,
his fate is not an healthy one.

I sit in such a peaceful state.
Contented just to sit and wait
until this morsel feels secure.
As legs thrash through silky lure.

Until that time with such a gasp,
the critter steps into my grasp.
To struggle now is not of worth
as my fangs intrude throughout its girth.

With a body now so soft and limp,
interior now a lovely drink.
Its frenzied kicks to get away
for this cricket will never pay.

Venoms course, its presense felt,
a life that dwindles with the melt.
All that's left are bones to crunch
As this Tarantula enjoys her lunch
August 2012
Nathan Vienneau Sep 2014
I want to feed the world,
feed them my energy,
feed off me and I will enjoy,
grow off my spirit,
eat past my body,
gnaw on my bones,
**** out my marrow,
use my strength as your own,
I have no need.

Disturbing as it sounds, you will surely enjoy it.
Poetic T Aug 2014
Dead eyes take everything in
Cross-stitched,  
Never open,
But nothing escapes its dead view
On the cross it hangs
Movement seen
Mind contemplates,
Gust of wind,
Old tattered clothes
Adorn it body
Silence is its terror,
The corn grows flush year upon year
Crows carcasses
Bones circle this tattered thing
Half buried in mud
Black feathers in the wind
No friend of the sky now perches here
Curiosity,
Playful,
Hide & seek,  
Children find the scarecrow
Open a button,
Hand goes in, a bird nest rests
Fingers indulge,
All that is heard is children's fear
As decomposing fingers hit the earth below
They run,
Breath heavy
Tears fill little eyes,
Darkness invades the landscape
As night falls,
The curious have no hope,
Its boots touch ground, silence is heard
As branches travel in search
Children's screams,
Heard but now to far away,
But there are others here
Burning the crop,
Thought unseen, Music hides
Cries of terror now far into the dark
An echo of what was seen,
Its veins penetrate the fertile earth,
Wheels expel air,
As music hides the terror yet to be seen
Three of fertile Flesh
The earth if giving will feed tonight,
As one goes in to the field of dreams
Where nightmares feed
Nails of thorn rip a silent throat
Only in there minds they scream
Crimson life upon the corn
The ground inhales
Nourishment for life next grown,
The music silences
Only the wind speaks, through the corn
As three
Now two
Where life was snapped broken shards
Litter the ground, a miss stepped foot
Low light not seen,
Impaled,
Upon broken life,
Now lifeless,
Roots do feed as life drains into the earth
Now only one
Alone
Frightened
Fearful
Of what slept within the corn,
No breath felt
As inanimate things don't breath,
A feeling of wetness upon there chest
What behind now feeding,
Fingers of branches Ingest
The scarecrow reinvigorated
No longer thin, gorged on life
As just
Bone
&
Skin
Crumple upon the earth,
And the scraps enveloped
This night, the field & earth feed well
As the crossed stitched mouth
Upon the cross smiles as a
Mouth stitched closed still got its fill...
Long but I hope you enjoyed the read, comments most welcome
Landlord of the flies
in a digital cesspool
by choice.
Poetic T Jul 2014
I thirst for the shrill
For the last noise before death,
Before the knife was fed
And blood suffocated, the last scream,
A last breath cutting the strings of life,
Honoured, for those who do not release a noise ,
Free to go
But as of yet they all did scream,
No woman or man,
when death was near,
They let out the breath that sealed there fate.
The thrill of the ****,
To cut them deep as they screamed,
I didn't discriminate it didn't matter
Rich
Poor
Homeless
They were all prey, that fed the knife,
I came upon you,
With knife thirsting in hand,
I took you with the needle
Jabbing it into your neck,
Sleep momentarily
Waking to find the last moment
Not a man,
But a woman to your last breath,
But you didn't scream,
A puzzled look upon my face,
You all scream,
She looked on, a smile forming on her face,
I the killer felt a pain, sharp in my chest.
The feeling of wetness, I looked down,
A knife protruding from my chest,
I screamed,
My mistake,
Never let out,
As the knife wielded once more, she didn't pity
As my scream cut short,
A throat slit,
I breathed no more, my scream silent
The killer became the hunted,
I let out the thing I craved the most,
And now I lay
Quite,
Bleeding,
As all goes dark
A tear forms,
I died screaming and only one tear did fall.
joyce knee Jun 2014
I'm ravenous.
Famished.
Starving for your touch
        your sugar-sweet kisses
        your velvet-smooth embraces
Empty of affection
Feed me your love

*Fill me up
Tonight, the dark feeds with splintered teeth,
The moon a bloated glutton, spitting light like shards of bone
Through corpse-grey, carrion clouds.
The night feeds and I shrink.
My dreams are dessicated,
All desire ****** dry, the marrow of me mourns
For the incarnation of before.
I was plump, proud, succulent, I lived
for the delights of the night, but now
the stars themselves spew from the sky
Like the ***** of a long neglected, hobo God.
Tonight, the dark feeds with splintered teeth,
All are devoured, we are an amuse-bouche
For who? For what? And *why?
Thought I'd try something a little macabre!
MS Lynch May 2014
I’m sorry if my body fat
triggers feelings of disgust in you,
but I hope you’re ready
because I’m about to shoot the gun.
Please, don’t feed the fat girl in a bikini on the beach.
My skin is not an insult, a statement, an apology,
or something to be picked and pulled apart
by your crisp magazine pages.
I refuse to cry over the pale white lines that show I
have blossomed from a child into a wide-hipped woman.
I don’t need a man to tell me that my body is acceptable,
merely by his standards of what his ******* rises for.
I’m sorry if my life makes me happy, and your life makes you not,
but I choose weight over senseless standards because
I can be beautiful with double-digit-sized pants.
Maybe you are uncomfortable with your
own uncomfortableness and with my
security in my flawed skin.
And although many of my “sorry(’s)” in this passage
are sarcastic, I am genuinely sorry that someone can feel
so negative in the only space that will ever truly be their own.
Please, don’t feed the fat girl in a bikini on the beach,
she does not need bitter and hateful words
that will literally eat away at her.
She’d much rather you go find someone
who actually gives a ****.

— The End —