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Elysian Percival Oct 2019
Empty sockets watch the sky
Reflecting clouds in collected rain
Birds make nests in open palms
Fungus grows in grey folds of brain
Mouth full of moss, ribcage full of flowers
Winds taking bones to dust
Memories that time devours
Anastasia Oct 2019
she wore his favorite dress
dark and low cut
short and tight
he sat in the chair
while she walked in circles
he tried to not follow her
but he could resist
she squatted before him
and he tried not to look down
she licked her lips
and stared him in the eyes
suddenly
he had a withering feeling
like he was
rotting
from the inside
she smirked
and sat on his lap
his vision got blurry
his hands started shaking
and the light
left
his eyes
Anastasia Oct 2019
i want
to see
some people rot in hell
Xant Sep 2019
The truth is
what once was yellow brick road
is now red from blood
blotched by dirt
and partly
covered in moss

I see no purpose nor hope
in following this particular road
that leads me back to a place
so called 'home'

It's rather unpromising
and untempting
unwelcoming even
And it makes me think;

At the end of the road,
will I be left to rot
by the people who once swore
that I will be loved
but would leave me standing
forsaken and starving
like they used to do

And so I'd rather stay in Oz
Then to follow the 'yellow brick road'
To get to a place where
I were to be ignored
My high school friend who had a dysfunctional family told me that she would never want to go home ever again.

She sees her family as what was beautiful, now sorrowful.

I could only imagine how her sweet childhood memories (re: yellow brick road) had turned bitter (re: red from blood).

And this poem, I dedicate it to her.
I wish her happiness :)
Priya Gaikwad Sep 2019
When someone leaves forever,
A part inside us that belonged to them dies,
Sometimes it's a good part,
Sometimes it's a bad part,
But some leave causing gangrene,
They slowly infect our entire system,
Causing each part of ours to rot and die.
David Hasselblad Aug 2019
Eaten Alive by Nothing

Surrounded yet alone,
Wasteland of desperation and despair,
Reaping rotting fruit, bloats, gnats, flyblown,
Longing, loneliness is never fair,

Lanterns and candle light to keep you warm,
Dancing shadows morph to devils,
Slitting despair bleeding, breeding ticks that swarm,
They feed and breed into hungry weevils,

Burrowing through chest to feed on carrion of rotting heart,
Also feeding on air from lung,
Heart along in solitude from ventricles shredded apart,
Alienating through truth, be still my lashing tongue,

Friends are always around,
Right until you need,
A lost letter of emotion sent outbound,
Lost but never found, devils take the lead,

Numb, in slowly boiling water like a frog,
Past scars of trauma a curse,
Can only feel so much before a clog,
Until you become cold, psychotic, or worse.

Break out the old smokescreen mask,
Smoke, laugh and smile,
Survivals your only task,
Foot in front of foot until your first mile,

Decaying down to skin and bone,
Each mile a greater distance,
Always harder when you’re alone,
Exhausted, running from the devils persistence,

Until a day you want to be alone
Quarantining spread this plagues fate of hate,
Feeling like happiness is just a loan,
Someone finally listens, too little, too late,

You hug your dark cloud,
With a thirst water doesn’t sate,
Ears covered, anxiety so, so loud,
Take a shot, a smoke, anything to placate,

An infested body no one wants close,
Insect army of traumas and abuses,
Each growing into a lethal dose,
At least for now, I still have my uses,
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Revenge,
that drove my mind insane,
diminished peace,
and replaced it with echoing chaos.

Revenge,
that filled my heart with hate,
venom in my veins,
ice in my soul,
fire in my eyes
and bitterness in my tone.

Revenge,
that made those moments rot
in anger wrapping up deceit.
Letting me dwell in darkness,
chaos and pain.

Revenge,
that makes more malice
to my hand.
So, I lay upon you to scourge.

Revenge,
that makes me feel like a villain,
with a prison sentence that never transpires.
Anastasia Jun 2019
in an old
old house
there are corpses in the cradles
and an old
delusional woman.
it's reeks of flesh
and baby powder
piled with blood-stained clothes
a "husband" lies
cold in bed
with parts
from "almost-perfect" men
the floor sags
and the stairs creek
the walls echo
with the cooing
cracking
voice
of an old
delusional
woman.
eva-mae coffey May 2019
you were toffee to my teeth
initially tasted so sweet
soon sickly, twisted and knotted
to my soul you
stuck and rotted
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