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Why cant I Eat?
I am so hungry
So thirsty,
So tired  

Why can't I drink?
I can't satisfy my hunger

My blood **** rising
In and out of consciousness
I see red and smell sweet and savory smells
Pure attraction, pure ambrosia

I smell the emotions
I smell the oils
why am I broken
why am I not still ringing that bell
underground in my own personal ****

I have no more emotion left
only pain...
I don't know if I can continue to hold on,
I must.
I will continue to write poems although I don't know how good they'll be.
My skin is green,
I’m gross,
My teeth are falling out,
Even my limbs are breaking!
My skin is green,
I don’t know why,
My clothes are ripping,
My hair is gone,
My makeup is smeared,
My skin is green,
I have a date tonight,
And I am gross,
My nails are chipped,
My skin is green,
The doorbell rings,
I shuffle over,
My date is here,
His skin is green.
erin Oct 18
The necromancer danced on her grave. The ground shook with every step the witch took, rumbling the ground beneath and making the corpse she had planted cling to the cool dirt for dear death. And then, the dirt began to give.

Sunlight burned on the girl’s blue skin, turning it a ghastly shade of porcelain like Wednesday Addams. She rolled over in her grave, and closed her eyes, refusing the inevitable fate of the undead. But her wings started flapping, and she rose up, the witches hand clawing into her back and dragging her back to life. And as the screeching of the megalomaniac forced her wide eyes open and the dried ancient blood away, she wished she were dead.
i'd appreciate criticism- i really want to improve my poetry game. if you can guess what this is about, i'd love to hear it.
Jabin Aug 24
Still can’t sleep.
Like the walking dread.
Schedule I keep
Bemoaning the bed.
elle jaxsun Aug 11
i’m a zombie,
only half alive.

i’m a ghost,
i don’t even know
what i look like.

i’m out of touch with myself
and everybody else.

i haven’t heard my voice in weeks,
i’ve forgotten how to speak.
Another edit from 6 years ago.
Scarlett Jul 26
We are zombies.
living a life,
with a dead soul.
aiming for a hopeless goal.
we are the living dead.
Just Maria Jul 13
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
Another themed poem
Martin Narrod Jul 11
Flits of crepuscular longing across the simoom in the night. For with samiel at the helm, all **** will take us for sloth. Firstly, a schism overtakes the wind, backsliding the doorstep of Lucifer’s kin. Keep an eye on the door’s of ewes. The child angered by sky will surely **** for the hedonists imbue. Then the rattle shakes, pelting trunks of lye, chafing the goons of the dawn and choking from the ***** in our young. Aristotle bakes yore, and relief takes the pen, until the quietness of the impala becomes transfixed by our brethren. Then sores take the skin by trial. Eagerly rushing towards the venomous trails, and only then does the bandit bemoan the pain. Only then will the hungered and hungry peel back their fingers for fare, there where the flocks lay in wait and in pairs. Here where the melancholy of revenge, fills our quivers with children’s tears. Only then do we make haste for the shade, otherwise the sun will cook our hides to the colors of the day, then we will lay quiet too. Maybe then we’ll be overtaken by the Xombie Moon.
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