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Niel Nov 2020
Cycles,
               Things must fall
So that growth continues
       It never seems fair
From one side to the other
                         Someone claims victimism

    But it is just such
Harsh and beautiful whatever the expression
From Some angle
       And all can argue the fact
Because it hurts, distractingly
Skin peeling from the nail area
No way to bite or cut, because at this point
          It’s too close to the flesh

So we scream and stomp
                Press buttons
                       that were never put into order
And blame, blame, blame, blame

Isolating into deeper depths
   Wondering where..
Sara Kellie Dec 2018
Under the birthstones
in the carcass yard
is where the flesh tombs lie.
Decomposing for three long years.
Eradicating memories,
dreams and fears.
Becoming next, the black gloop
treacle of putrification.
Now bones, just old bones
is the remain of what was once,
a spirit with a name.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Birthstones = gravestones
Carcass yard = graveyard
Flesh tomb = a body (alive or dead)

— The End —