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topacio Nov 2023
Your child floats
above you like a kite,
umbilical cord string chaos
like the wing that you are.

I want to reel them in for you,
to fight the wind
and collapse them in
like stacked dominos,
perfect circles
that never topple over.

Your innards are desperate
for your attention,
they say as they dangle
above you like
a fickle skyscraper.

and you find a way to
skydive off of them
into yourself,
your parachute
falling short each time
to start the process
all over again.
Emma May 2019
Claw my big heart out
String my organs to a big tree
Break my ripped neck out
The second haiku for my project
MisfitOfSociety Apr 2019
You're the one who killed the sun. You're the one who's killing everyone. If light can not enter, there will be no colour. We're all going to disappear.

Eating the babies.
Plucking the daisies.
Preserving their organs,
Saving them for later.

Artificial clouds are where the sun used to be!
You choked the sky and now you're choking me!

Drowning in every drop of water.
Eaten alive by every human flower.
Devouring every son and daughter.
Sprayed by the punctured capillaries of a sick mother.

Beware the carnivorous fruit. It's killing us softly.

Who knew dying would taste so **** good today.
Every bite I take I am slowly eating myself away.
The only way I feel alive is by eating what will **** me one day.
Who cares about that we're all gonna die someday.

Breathing through the holes in her lungs.
Flowing through her ever thinning blood.  
Stored inside her dissipating muscles.
She's sick, and we're all sick like her.

This is the post-human era.
mae Feb 2019
the blood drips thick red,
from my freshly done finger nails.
red like the lives wasted,
hearts broken days after this horrid holiday.

we celebrate the imprisonment of hearts,
and praise the ******.
shooting arrows into those unwilling,
killing the innocent,
by causing invigorating pain
disguised by hallucinogens.
making us believe that this was meant to be
dosage so high, the butterflies in our stomach making it seem as if we can fly,
is our organs crying for help.

we are dying and don't even know it.
for a holiday that will fade.
bright red for our favorite Valentine's Day.
Glass Jan 2019
there have been sureties
not been able to suffer from avoidance;
contiguity and octave that when our hands compose
they become
a cistern prognosis that are
visibly shut
in there own organs waiting for
an unborn character to synchronize to an
upset weakness, and a
faltered selfish flavor that jolts into
a superstition of someones apathetic
disposition - "he's only in your mind"

- G
Chris Jan 2019
Skin is but a thin, thin leaf,
Flesh is meat, and meat is good,
Bone is hard, but bone is sweet,
Under that, who knows, who could?

Blood is sour, blood is blue,
Veins are stringy, tasty too,
Heart's a muscle, not the soul,
And I don't mind even lungs at all.

Nerves are tender, tender things,
Pluck them, and make for spicy meal,
Play them as they were guitar strings,
And see how gourmet that soup would feel.

Eyes, oh eyes, exquisite blue,
(Brown and green as well will do,)
Look if what they see is true,
Look before I eat them too.
About human tendency to destroy others and enjoy.I am no different.
Madison Greene Dec 2018
if my father has taught me anything in twenty years
it is to avoid a man with any resemblance of him
and it's not that I feel sorry for myself but if we're being honest
he broke my mother's heart before mine was ever intact
and I was born trying to piece together a mess of a man with no intentions of being saved
because I believed every drunken "baby things will be different soon"
and I thought that if you loved someone it meant pulling them out of the pit they dug themself into
so I keep letting people fall temporarily in love with me
and trying to fill the gaps of my past with boys with their own open wounds
hoping my words are a scapel until they realize I'm just a human and not a surgeon
I just knew what it felt like to have your heart ripped into shreds before I even knew what organs were
Blade Maiden Aug 2018
I'd like to
become see-through
For people to
know who
is hiding underneath
how lungs breathe
how bones shiver
of the stolen liver
throat that has to swallow hard
each broken promise shard
stomach digesting
loneliness from life's endless questing
these veins red and blue
this heart beating true
I wish to be see-through
see-through for you

Without it I'm sure
I look so pure
Til you see me sing the most beautiful song
with blood on my tongue
Nick Stiltner Feb 2018
A Midnight bell rings through the night cloaked village.
The high standing clock tower has surveyed the night,
and deemed it high time to sing its chime.

A procession of men in crosses cloaked
sway forward with eyes searching dirt.
A humming unison, softly painting pictures
of mankind's final days.

Their humming chorus carries slowly down the empty streets,
an approaching fog creeping through the alleys,
smelling of soft odor sage.

Ever building ***** chimes build,
Frantic hands introduce each note to next
All culminating to its bitter end,
an apex, each note cryingly rings at once
deep into the fearful fox's core.
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