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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.
Luna Wrenn May 2019
rot
i left my happiness out for too long
its beginning to rot away.
i've forgotten how to put it up,
so its just turn to decay.
maybe i should have preserved it.
and never walked away.
but now forever gone,
and i'm the only one to blame.
Gale L Mccoy May 2019
you poisoned the tree
now eat its rotting fruit
the maggots in your stomach
must eat
lila Mar 2019
did you know
1 in 5 women
will be ***** during her lifetime
but every 1 has a name
and every name has a story
and no one story
is ever the same
mine isn’t any exception

it didn’t happen at all
like u think it did
there were no shadowy figures
reaching out rough hands
to pull me into an empty alley
as i walked the streets alone at night
8 out of 10 rapes are by someone you know

my body wasn’t a rag doll
to be thrown against a brick wall
while ****** objections flew
from my mouth like cannonballs

it was just us
in a space that was ours
a hushed no living and dying on my lips
the scary sweet nothings
whispered in my ear
must have drowned out the tides
rolling in and streaming
down my cheeks
because your hand never once left my throat
and you didn’t stop

i was nothing more than a shiny object
laid out on a dingy sheet
for you to devour
made to please

but when i rusted
i was abandoned
right where u took me
a corpse to rot
amongst the flowers
but if u squint hard
i may be pretty enough
to use again
3/28/2018
Graff1980 Mar 2019
There is a fresh hole
on the threshold
of our property,
a perfectly
proper spot
where they
buried me.

Safe distance
from the old quarry,
so my corpse
doesn’t have to worry
about being
disfigured
by the bigger
mess.

What a figure
I make,
flaccid
and undressed
before death.

Nothing there that
would impress
strangers,
other then
the danger
of smelling
my rotting flesh.

So, I am safely stowed
in a small hole
in the property
that I owned
while my killers
ransack my home
in the middle of the night.
Steve Page Mar 2019
The apple sits
helpless
and waits
and once its mates
have given it up as past it's best
once the rot sets in
and it starts to lose its ripeness
that's when the aroma rises
the fruit flies arrive in droves
and they feast on what's left
as the apple dreams
of pressed cider sisters
as the flies persist
in their feast
and it sits
at its core oblivious
of the fermenting opportunity missed
An image prompted by a line from Bohemian Rapsody
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