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I wear a dead man's face
and inhale fresh air through his
ghostly lungs
From a foreign nose, I can smell remnants
of a shy bullet,
or the intoxicating scent
of gasoline
Mother and Father leave kisses on
uncanny features;
we all sense the longing of
someone else
And as doctors force upon me a new chapter,

I laugh heartily,
unlike these cadavers
I think the tone of this one might depend on how it's read, honestly. Written mid-late 2018.
Injected into crystallized bloodstreams
Agony, much like cigarette
burns on a heart
***** the ash of life;
kiss the lips of death
Infant pale as Mother's
favorite dress
She bleeds sulfur and hatred
Demolished legs hug pavement
It was the most stunning performance
I had ever seen:

Of grey matter decorating trees
Choked laughter covering screams
Laughs that sound like death--
Death, which stumbles like me
My lady of the night,
she's got such glassy eyes
and thighs like the arctic
They come apart so readily
under my knife

I care not for the stench of death,
but the taste is divine
I think the only way to truly live Forever is to die young and tragically; to go in some incredibly mysterious way; that would be superior and most definitely unforgettable and that could quite possibly be immortality.
M. Karrington
jake aller Jan 13
Early in the midst of a chaotic frenzy
I caught the fragrance of her sweat grin
And my heart did a swirling spin
When I saw that vision of ****** delight

There I stood
Alone in a somehow too dismal room
Full of vibrant people
I knew not what to say

So, I spent that dismal day
Thinking dismal morbid thoughts of lugubrious doom
Thoughts what might happen that day
And what might have been if I had the courage to say Hello

Thus, it went
Years after ever melancholy year
Days after ever gloomy days
Nights of self-induced torture

Months of nightly rancid beer
There it went

I am sitting and thinking
Thoughts so gloomy
I still don’t know

Life belongs to the living
Not to the morbid mystic dreamers
Nor the poets dying
published along with depressed morbid nights in rosette Maleficarum
Justin Zheng Jan 3
For listening
For Trying
To make amends
things don't always work out
but that's alright

Things could be worse
Like I could be dead.
Sorry, Quite Morbid.

thanks for everything
Abhinav Jan 2
Live, they say
Survive, come what may
How do I?
When life passes me by
Without me living
In grotesque pain writhing
Dying every moment
My mind morbidly non-clement
Tearing itself apart
Wouldn't it be better to simply depart?
Naoki B Dec 2018
The women circle the man
Prayers to a sinner, the one who is ******
Who's hunched to a blade half-mast
Now time is nothing but a glass of sand
So he prays to God asking for mercy at last
Em MacKenzie Dec 2018
If you knew this was your last day on earth,
would you spend it wisely with complete worth?
Honestly I’m scared of what my answer would be,
If I’d wallow in regret or just check out early.

Once you’ve breathed fresh air,
how do you go back to drowning?
In my youth I could never care
but lately I’m always frowning.
I tried to **** every single brain cell,
I no longer wished for feelings of thought,
no one asked so I never got to tell,
all these lingering regrets that I’ve got.
Dawn of the final day.
the sun arrives but will never stay.
Twenty four hours remain,
my death rattle will be in vain.

Long ago I lost hope in salvation,
and my dreams were trampled for belief,
so I dressed it up in mindless intoxication,
oh, how well it decorated my eternal grief.
How do I explain that the reason I’m leaving,
was the same reason that I stayed?
I’m tired of starving and done with dry heaving,
it feels like my internal organs have been flayed,
and put out on display.

Once you feel the sun rise,
how do you return back to the night?
When defeat’s visible in your eyes,
‘cause mind and body are both done with the fight.
I tried to **** every single brain cell,
yet there’s still more than enough left to haunt me,
will they survive the fall out, only time will tell,
I have a feeling one will remain only to keep taunting.
Dawn of the final day,
knees were made for grovelling not to pray.
Twenty four hours remain,
maybe time can fit in some rain.

I’m never happy with what life gives me
though I admit I haven’t been given much.
I feel only coldness in my surroundings,
but have felt warmth from a strangers touch.
Everyday I think “this is the end
I can’t possibly keep on going”
My spine broken before it could bend,
and I was plucked before I started growing.
So drag my corpse to the ocean
‘cause it was always my dream for there to rest,
I’ll die drowning in every emotion,
but only sadness will fill my chest.
Nothing really to do with Zelda, yet it influenced it all the same.
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