Why do people care when I fall down on air,
It's a root, first of all, I don't know why they dare,
I don't die, must I fall, I may cry and may crawl,
Let this be something learned for the next one who saw,

I know I'm the one that will die in the movies,
However I go I know It won't be soothing,
I run after day when it's worse for the sight,
Of course, I would trip when i'm running in the night,

For the better or worse, I'm the first one to go,
It is good that I know I'm the start of the flow,
At the end of the day, It all goes out to show,
I am falling on roots, not the air you a*sholes!
Lmao inspired by a dream.
stuck inside of church
running from the werewolves
hiding in the bathroom
from their hurt
running from the library to the lounge
scanning each room to see if they’re around
from the lounge into the men’s bathroom
climbing over stalls and hiding like a criminal
running down the hallway
jackie in pursuit
inside of a classroom
jackie follows me in
climbing around avoiding the floor
she can’t bite me if i avoid her
finally i escape to the next room
and slam the door before she can follow suit
two werewolves hungry outside waiting
none of the passersby seem concerned
i find a piece of paper and write “help”
two people including savannah stop and tell me that they’re harmless
i write again "they won’t stop chasing me
get leo"
they run and find him
minutes later leo arrives and puts the wolves to sleep
he gestures inside the room to me
“come on with me i owe you a drink”
we’re gonna talk about the beginning of life
Stella 7d
I miss the days when
I could speak without judgement
I miss the days
When I could run around,
Carefree
I miss the days when
Everything wasn’t complicated
With the things going on in the world
And how much it changes,
It’s going to start to affect people
Terrorism and shootings have become common
And no one blinks an eye at it
Treaties are being made and destroyed,
With all this going on,
I just wish the old days were back,
They were filled with laughter and joy,
Not depression and self-loathing
Those days were filled with wonder
Not complicated and downright horrible
But I know,
Those days are behind us
And they may never happen again,
At least I have the memories of
Simplicity and happiness
This is me personally, not everyone else. I speak only for myself. Thanks for Reading, I hope you liked it.
Hiba Odeh Aug 11
Oh humans, trapped in meritless reveries,
Assemble, assemble.
Of disheveled hair, of filthy seams,
Assemble, assemble.

Behold the mine railway-overspread with rusty carts.
No need for gasoline, no need for ignition.
Your sweat, fright, and palpitating hearts,
Will be the ravenous cart's fuel and nutrition.

Fumble in now, you staggering fools, stumble in.
Overwrought by nystagmus and vertigo so soon?
Grasp the serrated edge and don't mind the shredding skin.
The journey starts once the tracks are strewn-

By your trickling blood, inducing a metallic stench.
Now the vigorous carts rampage over the slick tracks.
With trepidation, the acid heads recoil and blench.

Berserk wheels clash against steel, darkness flaring with buzzing sparks.
Warped in pandemonium and distortion so soon?
Grip harder and don't mind the flying flesh, rather listen to our delighted remarks.

You're spiraling through a sombre abyss without an end.  
A ferocious atrocity you say?
This rusty rush is beyond what you'd comprehend.
Body count arises,
The cause leaves little survival,
Naked and barely breathing,
My home gone to the destruction,
Calling my demons,
My nightmare induced voices,
Ironically keeps me sane,
Though it drives a nail,
A rust ridden one of hell,
Repeatedly screeching a noise,
Scraping of demons claws,
Digging deep within the edges,
Will a satisfying thud,
Along with a soft crack,
The soft outer skull,
Now was spilled,
Similar to an egg,
Pushed ever so slightly,
Into submission of revealing the yolk,
The grey brain matter is shown,
It barely hanging by the stem,
Blood pours by the gallon,
I sigh in relief to have calmed them,
The people upset the voices,
For the voices to not hurt,
Their whims must be heeded,
Punished the damned,
For you can be forgiven,
Human flesh taste of victory,
While the mind does of love.
Naked and barely breathing,
But we are alive none the less.
Late night and racing mind.
Have you ever peeled an orange?
Felt the satisfaction as the smooth husk glides
Right off, falls away in a rush
Opening to the sweet flesh inside

Taking pleasure in the simple things
Those smooth and flawless actions
So why should flaying men be different?
Why the cruel infractions?

You say you scream from pain
But I hear the rejoicing
Hidden in your shrieks
As I flay the skin right off your face
Revealing the bloody smile
Concealed beneath your cheeks

Ah, the rush, the thrill
Peeling you like a fallen fruit
Elation takes me to new heights
As I joyfully flay your skin suit

My concentration becomes delight
As I open you up to new views
The rapturous beauty
Your muscles, tendons, bones, and sinews
I asked for unusual poem prompts.
I received this:
"The sweet feeling of flaying skin off muscle."

Blood chilling. But here's my best shot.
Cyrus Jul 31
I held my daughter in my arms. Just three old years old, she is a survivor like me. She is the only one who hasn't been turned by the shadows. I cradled her in my arms just as I did when she was a baby. I think back to the distant memories of my wife and our family. But the thought vanishes as quickly as it begins. A few days ago I was trapped but I knew I had to rescue my daughter and I did just that. So here I am sitting in a very bright room in my house with a barricaded door. All is quiet until I hear some screaming. Not screaming of pain or fear, but the screaming of a monster. I hear one.. then two… then… they found us. I hear banging on door as hideous screams fill my ears. My daughter starts panicking and crying loudly. I softly stroke her hair just as I did when she was younger. She slowly calms down and sobs softly. I look at the entrance and hear the screams and banging on the door. The door will not hold for much longer. I hold the only thing I hold dear in my arms as it's tears run down my neck. I kiss her cheek and stroke her hair one last time as she slowly falls asleep. I slowly wrap my hands around her small neck and quickly snap it. Instantly she goes limp. I will not let those shadows turn my little girl into a monster. As I cradle her small dead body the door bursts open. A group of monsters rush through and scream in a horrifying screech “Police! Put your hands up!”.
Short story
Constructive critism is welcomed
The storm flashes white strobe lights
illuminating the soppy landscape
Thunder rolls the hills
crying in loneliness

Alone tucked under the constant strumming of grandfather clock
I am burdened
Weighted down by tornado thoughts
swirling twisters in and out

There is a haunting silence that slices,
in between the booms of night's tantrum
a silence so thin,
the cracks in the hardwood whisper low
They speak of chilling steps lead by ghosts
of wandering hopes, gypsy breaths and thoughts untold

The fire shrinks, flames frightened by the storm
the lights flicker, electrical surges spark
skin crawling fear inches closer
wrapping it's claw up my back

Panic comes with each heave of air,
the silence hovers like spirits crossed over
my eyes wander the four walls, pained in glass
anticipating the boom
The sudden strike that fills empty room
lighting shattered
Thunderstorms conjure ghostly thoughts
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