fingers
                (they grow—damp
but not ripe)
  
         (damp)
the world leans into—flesh sways
           like chimes inside rotten skin

–hisscrack—snap!  
                        one
finger,      *******
falling           silent
beneath

                        murmur
            of the trench (deep    and wet
     in its hunger)                                                          ­              
            (flesh like flaking bread)
the fingers think about the soft ground
and wish they were    as light
                                as they
were not

if only it were not so
            slow

            left with—
                                the ache—   the hollow
where fingers once
     felt
        the grip of a rifle
                           (now forgotten)
       as they slowly,
    listlessly drop        
    towards the hungry earth

i
                am
      still here
    if only i can touch
                           the dirt  
            with    nubs that will never
            rise  
            up against
                   the gray

—drip
                           drip
        of life from
         where my
                (left) hand
should
                 hold a fist

but it is just
                       bone  
                             and bone
growing brittle
until the
                          whisper  
                         reaches to  
                           speak louder than silence
     and

                                       then

there is nothing
     but the hole inside
me left
              to remember me.

As I curl up in decay
The only thoughts that stay
Are the ones I wish to drown
Out and away

The only thoughts that stay
Are that the rot seeping out of me
Is going to slowly seep
Its way into you

The only thoughts that stay
Is that my decay
Is going to slowly spread
And eat it's way through you

So the only thoughts
That won't stay at bay
Are the ones of slowly
Silently
Creeping away

The silence is deafening.
How many days has it been?

I can almost make out the faint calls,
Of someone in the distance.

But just as quickly as they appear,
They vanish without a trace.

So, I sit against the wall,
Hugging my knees to my chest.

Scratches on the rough concrete behind me
Marking the depth of my agony

How long will I rot in this cage,
Before someone notices that I am missing?

Will you kiss my scars?
Will you love my rot and decay too?
Crystallize me in all that’s unnatural and unpleasant.
Frame me in my ugly.
Be there when I see no light but only beckoning hands into the darkness.
Cut me your hand to hold instead of trimming the edges of my sanity.
Starve yourself with me. Starve yourself of me.
Taste me when I’m solely iron in your body,
trickling down your nose to remind you I'm there.
Feed me sugar cubes to keep the flies warm.
Wean me off the good stuff until I shame you for sharing.
Won’t you keep me sated?
Won’t you blanket your daisies in my mouth?
But what about the moths?
What about the maggots and, oh, what about the monkeys that tease you to let me go?
Let the dead go. Let her go, they say.
You won’t kiss my scars again if you knew I was dead.
Decaying won and I still love you!
I still love you.
I still love you.
How can’t I?
You loved me enough to care for the rot.

People surround me
They have a different energy than me
They drain me
They make me mentally exhausted
Too exhausted
To the point where I want to lock myself up
To the point where I don't want to wake up

I'd rather rot in my bed
Just to not be called "Special Ed"
Just to not feel pain
Again
So I don't get hurt again
So I don't get shamed again
So I don't get drained again
So I don't have to be anymore insecure
So I can feel secure
While rotting away in my bed
While the depressive thoughts evacuate my head

This town holds secrets
Don't you know?
Between the houses and their lawns,
Between the market square and suburbs,
Between the forest and the parks.
A mystery lingers
Like unsettling fog
Suffocating, deadly, murderous.
The longing silence
That draws exhales from townsfolk.
The rolling winter
That fills their hearts with dread.
For the creatures of the mountains
Come down to the haunted town
Drawing blood on sidewalks
To satisfy their frozen hunger.
The people tape their windows
And blind themselves with scissors
For they cannot bear to see the horrors.
Each season, a part of town shrinks away
Like termites eating entire wood slowly
Devouring the taste.
Soon, it will become a ruin
Uninhabited, lost in time, lonely.
What once was the American dream
Now an urban flower in a devastating jungle.
A leftover, remnant of something great, eaten away by greed,
destroyed by self hatred.