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stillhuman Apr 25
It's poisonous claws
scratching up from the inside
of my chest, they open
a path of lurid squalor
festering the internal wounds
with rotting meat
that spreads from within
to the skin that crawls
and dies, cell by cell
into the empty stale air
surrounding our conversation

The words float
from one breath to another
without ever really landing
to a precise spot
of connection
They just mimic meanings
and thoughtfulness
when they are void of any feelings

There is no spark of life
no life itself
denied to us
by the putrid scent
we ignore the existence of
No knowledge of pain
or reality
just a dull sense
of immortality
as we still
like the dust suspended
motion our lips without sense
nor sense of self
Corroding second by second
by second 'til we
become dust ourselves
"Natura Morta" is the artistic genre of painting still life
It resembles us so much at times
She came to me with the unborn,
The devil’s look in the baby’s eye.
Small feet & hands all well too torn,
I to grab my own son dead & shy.
What I thought would be a blessing,
Would only begin life misery.
Long ago, I so obsessing,
Waiting for my heir of mystery.
Feeling his beating little heart,
Beat! Beating! No lungs grasping for air.
No more a mother, but a ****,
Dead eyes of her evil long lost care.
So, I killed her - life for a life -
Who knew - the prayer of a knife…
Do you love the grit of my teeth,
True caressing sweet nature,
Slowly engulfing you…
Love‘s venom taking over us,
Never to let you go free,
Nor leave a simple clue…
Symphonies of dreams distorted,
No one to crave you but thee,
Savings for catacombs…
Who to find you of buried love,
Your skin melting of ***** wealth,
Reeking of ****** pomes…
Shake alive your casket of limbs…
Of ground the crying violins…
Nikki Mar 2021
my pearls were wrapped around your neck far too tight.

- quite deadly.

- you over plucked all of my petals till I bled.

- you held plenty of toxic natures behind your tired eyes.

- I asked you to hold me forever.

- you promised you'd never let me go.

- you left your black gloves on my bedside table.

- kissing your mouth was like kissing your soul. (or was that an illusion?)

- we'd burst into flames every time we wound up inches apart.
Parker Vance Feb 2021
Crow's feathers like
The exoskeleton
Of a long-nose weevil,

The color of
Mom's grease-stained
Pots illuminated in moonlight.

They're a mind
That's gone dark
With a tunnel straight through,

Like a billion
Ants all piled
On- throbbing

Can you hear
Them *******,
Hear them slurping?

Those oily wings
Writhe in air like bodies
Launched from 90-story trade buildings

They close their eyes;
Sleep forever
Bathing in crow's feathers.
Nickolas J McKee Dec 2020
Sleepless in change,
As time passes by.
Tell me my love,
Where are you to hide?
You left me here,
A bard of the night.
Longing for dreams,
Awoken by fright.
Still in silence,
I don’t wait for you.
What’s passed is gone,
An entity through.
Am I alive -
Haunted we will know.
Kristin Nov 2020
A piece
of a ouija board
sits in the Los Angeles River
as the inky crows squawk nearby

I pace
along this polluted trickle
of a river
as the crows flutter by

Apace
a runner darts near
without his mask
I shudder

Ashes
ashes
we all
fall down
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