Can you feel the weight
Sagging on your bones
And the dead skin
Carrying your woes

Can you feel the pain
Run through your tears
And the eyes burn
Shining with fear

Can you feel it
Consuming your mind
And your thoughts
No longer holding the monsters inside

The air, saturated with a putrid smell.

Foul, like a dumpster in summertime.

They're monsters, skulking around in the Dead of Night.

Leaving, a sickness in their wake.

You're revolting.

The way you take.

Gnashing your teeth.

Trying, to pluck out little hearts.

Attempting, to creep up thighs.

Don't touch me, with those slimy fingers.

Go before you die, rotting beast.

We are not a cemetery.

blue lilies
now;wilted and zapped
petals of hibiscuses;
frosting and drooping
pressed between our pages
stenching and staining
them edges
bleeding


the flesh stenches
the putrid blooms
carve squealing wounds
the blood engulfs the heart
that deliquesces


the crevices are graved
then the heart deliquesces
and falls into two
down/a rotting corpse
it oozes into


the disgust of existence
creeping through shredded layers
of shroud
covering the withering bones,
mass
and
emotions


searing
it melts eventually-the shroud
until it reaches the bones
crashes them there
spilling the liquids/
all that is left bare
is already atrophying


and i guess that's the difference between dying and rotting
dying at least leaves you
the voids to hold onto
to be nostalgic for what was held
dying-paints,hues from the ashes that blew


but rotting
eats away all that existed
and snaps leaving
detritus,stinking
odor that i need  


the craft of us
all worn out
the fragments dis plumed through holocausts
the rebellion in ruination  
and the twitched cold feet
each breath i've took,now smothering
you,me,and everything



the reflections,contradictions
intoxicating,caging charcoal abstracts
punctured and ruptured
all constituents consuming and decaying now
every treble
so heavy


freezing not frozen
perishing not lighter


maybe these moments
-they never stop
cause right there in the midst
everything rots.
-/and we let it

~d

Zombies are the walking dead
To **** them shoot them in the head
Your flesh is their favorite treat
If you see one be fast on your feet

If you look at them all you'll see
Is a disgusting flesh eating disease
I don't want to meet one that's for sure
For the walking dead there is no cure

Let's hope there's never an invation
That we stay a zombie free nation
Because there's one thing I don't want to be
That's a walking rotting zombie

I started going to counseling this week
because my plants started dying

the roots are all rotted
and the leaves are just slowly eating away at themselves

maybe my roots are rotten too
and I need to fix them before I start eating myself up