#bodyhorror
I can’t feel it,
Unless it hurts.
So please touch me,
And make it hurt.
Take your ice pick,
And
Tap
Tap
Tap
Through my sphenoid.
Root around in there,
See how far you can go.
Listen as my pleading goes from words,
To sounds.
A verbal gestaltzerfall.
Do you ever wonder:
Why I came back?
Why I need you?
All I can think about is,
Whether or not you’ll hold me,
When I start seizing.
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 5:13 PM UTC
The fear.
The feeling of not being able to do an action so simple, reflex, human nature.
They bring out the glass, my body screaming at me to look away.
It’s brought to my face
Panic fills my whole body, every nerve lighting on fire.
My throat begins to spasm, sharp, hard pulls that rattle my chest and leave me feeling animalistic and small.
Like a deer with an arrow in its leg.
Scared, helpless, trapped, your body working the way it’s not supposed to.
It is in this moment that I realize,
My body is now a prison.
My most fundamental instincts turned against me,
Leaving me nothing but my strange, echoing thoughts.
I feel a strange sense of serenity.
Does my body reject its own flesh because I’m not deserving of it?
Or is the rejection of my human nature a rejection of mortality itself?
Is this what divinity feels like?
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 3:19 AM UTC
Bashing with a passion
BANG
BANG
BANG
Cracking’s sure to happen if I
BANG
BANG
BANG
split
peel
Dainty digits pick around
Like monkeys picking fleas
Digging ‘round pink matter
Doing as I please
Shifting lobes to the side
Searching, searching, when I find
What I want to clear
Images of you appear
Shards of skull scrape my skin
As I grab what lies within
Pulling pulling pulling out
Biting biting biting down
Sinking teeth into my dreams
Killing you to free me
Squelching
Squeaking
Squirmish
The gore makes me sick
I take a chomp and juice squirts out
Like squeezing a fat tick
Gnawing
gnawing
gnawing
On this memory of you
Killing
killing
killing
Everything I can’t undo
Pictures fade and colors blur
As fleshy noodles slurp
Why am I feeling pain?
What happened to my brain?
Wrap and wrap, I patch me up
Sluggish arms move like syrup
Fuzzy thoughts surface when
I try to find what happened then
Washing ****** hands I think
I think
I think
I need a drink
Fingers fumble with a bottle
Anger sparks and turns the throttle
With practiced hands, I pop the cap
Wait—
Who taught me that?
Instincts linger despite the hole
Inside my thoughts, inside my soul
I killed her—
—who’s her?—
from my memory
Yet still she hides within my body
If I forgot, why can’t they?
Why does she choose to stay?
I need her gone
I need her dead
And though she’s now out of my head
She haunts my movements
Ligaments
Despite my best efforts
The loss of you still hurts
Aching in my bones
Pelting me like stones
I cannot escape
—no matter how much I hate
Who?
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 4:56 PM UTC
I am utterly vile
My yellowed body bloats
Flesh festers with larvae
Numbers at my feet climb
Like mold on damp walls
I am like a festering wound
Filled with maggots and pus
Like a half-decayed corpse
Skin bruised, yellowed, and knawed
Like mold you don't notice
Until you bite the bread it lay on
It is not real, I tell myself
I do not really look like that,
I promise myself
But every photo I see,
Every pair of downcast eyes,
Every word I type
Tells me otherwise
I wish to grow claws
And shred my skin off my bones
To burn the corpse I live in
To **** this infested meat I inhabit
I open my fridge for a snack
But the power had been cut long ago
The meat is ridden with maggots
The fruits melting with decay
The air buzzing with insects
who make their way over to me
And burrow into the **** on my stomach
I am vile, disgusting, horrendous, viscerally ugly, disturbing, rotting, horrid, decaying, putrid, and I am running out of ways to say it. I am disgustingly human and disgustingly dead. All that is left to do is to burn the corpse.
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 4:57 PM UTC
i’m too heavy, too full
of venom and scorn
i wish i had a birds hollow bones
so i could fly above
the desolate and lovelorn
but instead i dig and
i dig and i dig and i dig
i sink into the core of the earth
and i melt into magma
to burn into ashes and return
back to where i was made
i am a hornet of an angel
with a silver knifepoint stinger
and rice paper wings
they flake and crumble
and cry and rumble
i am an insect of a woman
with grotesque snapping jaws
and two druxy hearts
staring into the window of
ephemeral eternal deflowering
so i die, i die, and i die again
my feathers are weighed
down with oil and rot
so i rip into myself
and chew on my loathing
Jan 4, 2025
Jan 4, 2025 at 8:12 PM UTC
I’m sitting in history right now, the teacher is talking and I can hear him but I can’t understand the words. I can’t filter them through the thoughts in my head. I feel like crap right now but I don’t know exactly what I’m feeling, it feels like sadness but it’s not, and my therapist told me to recognize my emotions based on what sensation I’m feeling in my body. But all I can feel is an empty pit in my stomach and that’s just hunger, and maybe an ache in my chest, pulling down on my heart, but I always feel that and it’s just normal. It’s just normal, right?
I feel like I’m going to throw up all the nothing I’m feeling, all the nothing inside me. I should be feeling something, feeling anything, but all there is in my chest is emptiness. I don’t feel, and have I ever really felt?
I think I feel heavy, but I don’t know what I feel, I’ll never know what I feel. I’m not human, I'm incapable of being human. Humans can hold things, and keep holding, but everything I grasp fades away and slips out of my hand, turning to dust and was it ever really there?
And maybe humans make errors but I make too many, more than can be counted.
I walk towards flowers and they wilt, the leaves and petals turn brown and fall off. Those same flowers when I try to water them and care for them, I give them too much and they die, they die because I tried to keep them alive. Those flowers stick to me, braided into a crown of thorns that sits upon my head.
And vines and weeds overgrow me, spiders make webs in my hair. The spiders are my only friends, and they sit with me.
I’m sitting in history right now, with the spiders and the vines and weeds and the crown of dead flowers and thorns and the empty pit with all the nothingness all tangled together to make one inhuman monstrosity, incapable of feeling and holding, to heavy to be held, that can hear but cannot understand the words, that can think but not speak the thoughts.
Dec 16, 2024
Dec 16, 2024 at 12:44 PM UTC
and what is a shape
when everything’s fake
isosceles,
i can’t breathe
one thing having athsma taught me
is the shape of a ribcage
when i saw it on screen
Nov 23, 2024
Nov 23, 2024 at 8:04 PM UTC
My veins are drawn taut
Fishing line beneath my skin
I extend outwards.
Oct 12, 2024
Oct 12, 2024 at 8:29 PM UTC
that's just the way the body goes i guess
wanna mould my hands around his shoulders
through t-shirt and pyjama pants
wonder what the mirror shows him
that perfect mouth is smiling
do i wanna be him or ingest him
i wish that i could memorise it
wanna put my mouth around the reflection
kiss him everywhere until he sees red
hold his perfect imperfect face and
taste myself on his breath
take his arms or be held in them
i wanna feel and i wanna know
i guess that's just the way the body goes
Sep 19, 2024
Sep 19, 2024 at 3:16 AM UTC
it's highschool recess and my best friend and i watch the seventh-graders
from our perch as 'older boys' with minimum-wage jobs and harder homework. one is handing around a gleaming can of monster energy like the blood of christ himself and everyone wants some. they treat the factory-issue can with such tender care, flushed fingertips on cold metal.
"why are they so excited about a monster?" i ask.
("what does it taste like?" a wide-eyed friend's younger brother asks.)
"because it's novel. it's their first taste of freedom." my friend says, and
then suddenly i remember all the times we've done the same with our friends.
first, in an airport because me and my shaking hands couldn't finish it ourselves. outside school, warm from the flesh of someone's school bag all day. under the table and the teacher's nose because i stayed up too late, comuning with other friends in the blue dark. no matter who buys it's always for all of us.
("have a sip"-"i don't like this one"-"the juice one is my favourite")
like maybe the 58g of sugar and 600mL of caffeine is okay if it's split between us. like the sharing of spit is holy. i look out at the small crowd of seventh graders and realise they are just beginning to learn:
what is communion if not half backwash?
what is holier than ingesting your friends?
what is holier than killing your hearts together?
Sep 14, 2024
Sep 14, 2024 at 8:21 PM UTC
When the screaming ends
the flesh seared away by the blinding white light
many eyes opening wide in colors yet unseen
eyelids peeling back and shriveling
cursed to forever look and see everything
burning hot metal sloughing the charred remains of flesh and bone
teeth acidily dripping from the writhing form
and as the ashen wings sprout
and all noise ceases
you pick up a feather
hearing the chorus and choir
and wonder if this is the epitome
of beauty
Jul 9, 2022
Jul 9, 2022 at 2:13 AM UTC
This useless meat sack. I am the thing watching behind the eyes of this empty meat sack. I am the one piloting this sausage of a body, directing it to walk, talk, smile.
Sometimes I wish that I could reach into my chest and tear it open. I want to rip and tear and slice past the epidermis, watch the white fatty cells and veins and arteries moving. I want to see white, bone-white, a cage for my useless heart. Watch my heart pump like those sheep hearts we used to dissect in science. I remember how they looked, white fat clinging like ivy, and greying in the cool room of the labs. Nothing but a cold, clammy lump of flesh. Maybe death smells like the butchers. Like bleach that can’t cover the festering smell of rot and ammonia.
I’m heavy on my ankles. I remember the last time I starved, and I felt as if I could fly, balanced on my tip-toes, poised to fall. And maybe falling felt just as good.
It’s so unbearably soft. My chest, my arms. I can feel my cheek meat. Fat on bones. Scrape it out with a spoon like pork cheeks, soft, tender, delicious.
A chrysalis. A cut-out, a hollow man wearing hollow shoes doing hollow things. How did that pupa feel, I wonder, trapped in darkness? No way out but forward. The growing pains, tendons and bones and muscles warping. Twisting and crawling but transforming, little by little. Into what, you can’t possibly imagine. The uncertainty, it’s almost as bad as the darkness. No change even when you open your eyes, like colours have frozen into little dizzying pixels. You can’t stop, but do you want to? On the precipice between weakness and a terrifying something else, what can you be but monstrous? Not one or the other but neither.
What are you turning into? A butterfly? A monster? Neither?
You can’t stop.
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 2:39 AM UTC
i can feel the worms
as they wiggle under my skull.
i dig them out with tweezers,
throwing them in a bowl.
but the more i dig,
the more there are
no matter where i go,
no matter how far.
my brain turns to mush
as the days go by
my innards begin to rot
and my corpse liquifies.
what began as concern
slips into terror.
but i promise,
i never meant to scare her.
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 2:55 AM UTC
Rotting means having your brain
collapse in on itself in a grey gooey heap.
It means your eyes
falling apart and your tongue swelling up
and bursting
under the weight of a thousand maggots.
It's cutting your stomach into ribbons
and letting it shrivel into nothing.
It's letting your bones wither and crack
and your hair fall out
and it means curling up into a
dry
dusty
gooey
broken
slimy
oozing
ball.
I think I'm rotting.
Please help me.
Please help me,
I'm rotting.
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 5:06 PM UTC
This body is not mine,
Though I still see through it's eyes
An image in my mind,
But this likeness I do not find
Denial, rejection; typically a body's traits,
Somehow here in my soul, felt towards this flesh that frustrates
Upon a mirror I gaze,
I see a stranger's face
Am I a ghost that haunts here?
The previous Will erased?
Am I attached to a past,
That this body never had?
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 5:57 PM UTC
i think i might have a mole.
my teeth are dug out of their rows.
my tongue is pulled out at the root.
my nails are shriveled up thorns,
my wrists wilted bouquets of bones.
my ribs metal jaws which enclosed
something that bit off its foot.
my skull’s overturned,
seeds spilling out of the neck.
what is a corpse but a flower bed?
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 1:29 PM UTC
You poke your horrible head out
every once in a while.
I can taste you on my tongue, rolling over my teeth disgusting
and necrotic.
You’re rotten.
You crawl over me, a sick visceral
feeling that settles on my guts, heaving
me down to the floor.
Weak and heaving.
And so I
Hurt myself.
I’ll administer enough trust so
it’s sure enough to bruise.
hands over purpled skin
revelling on the sensation.
And so,
I’m marred.
It feels like a thousand
prickly needles piercing me, just as you pierce my mind
and every rational thought.
I’m not sure you exist. I’m not sure
you’re real;
I’m not sure I’m real,
either.
You impale the basis of my being
with such effortless strength, toppling
pillars without a second look or regard.
You make me want to ******* rip my eyelids clean off,
I want the tainted ichor, once and for all
to obscure my vision.
And never clear.
The gore corrupting my eyes
So deeply they
turn mildewy.
decay away with the rest of me.
I don’t want to see you.
I don’t want to believe you exist.
I will deny you.
Deny you.
Deny you.
And deny you, once more.
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 3:39 AM UTC
I don’t focus much on death itself anymore,
but what comes after.
Whatever comes will be, and that is that.
I cannot change it, and there’s no sense in agonizing over it.
I like to imagine my body after the event, when I am no
longer conscious, and the breath in my lungs have long
dissipated like last season’s floral.
Even though the chances are slim, I like to imagine being in the forest, surrounded by trees and flowers and perhaps a stream. I imagine a sort of time-lapse, my body collapsing inward, my skin peeling away, my hair wilting like autumn leaves.
Mushrooms will grow beneath my fingers, wildflowers will tangle themselves within my hair and ribcage, blooms and blossoms of all colors will emerge through my chest. My bones will grow moss and Mother Earth will swallow me whole. Tree roots will wrap around me, engulfing me, pulling me towards themselves. I will be wanted, I will belong.
Let me nurture you like you’ve done with me, let me help you grow and flourish into who you are to become, let me be your trellis, your shield, your hill. I will allow you to bloom such as you have me, and we will flourish together, life within death. It goes on, and it is peaceful.
Where there is death or change,
new growth awaits.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
My eyes were on my hands
My freckles upgraded to bumps
My nails dug in my face
My elbows had replaced my knees
My kidneys swapped places
My hips found a home in my chest
My teeth bit at my skull
My whole spine flipped upside down
My brain dropped to my feet
My heart, soon enough, took its place
And I ran from my fate
Racing against what was unknown
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 11:32 PM UTC
you touched your wrists
to mine
and a rash blossomed
across my skin
red and dry
ran across
indigo hills
fields of turned-over soil
in the night-time
to cool my
strangled sweat
to find a sink
a light in the kitchen.
im sorry, i promise
i'll buy a slice
i just need to use your sink, please.
fluorescent-white
heat
i put the water on the hottest setting
and i scrub and
scrub, and scrub
fast, and hard
i rinse the raw
i leave.
when I wake up
for all my scrubbing
the rippling rash, the buds
are still there
under my skin.
a lone fungal stalk
of crimson
a fruiting body
rises from my wrist.
this does not belong
here
like a broken bone
bending in the wrong direction
under the skin
like the voice on
the other end of the line
this is not real
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
tie me down
crowing about a crown of flowers
curl my palm into the hollow of your cheek
(oh my god drown me)
and here we have the soldier
hands covered in blood and knives (and something
else;but
we don't talk about that)
look how the blind man cries tonight
see these bones on the grass
frost building in the cavity between your ribs and
your skin
SCREAMING ****** IN THE HALLWAY
(THIS IS THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN HEAR YOURSELF
THINK
THIS IS THE ONLY WAY ANYONE KNOWS WHAT YOU ARE)
you, love, you, goldfinch
climbing windowsills
creep in the dead of night, cicatrix spiderwebs
here, here, here, in the small of your back
(can you feel me, here, crawling into your skin?can
you feel me sewing our palms together, goldfinch?)
"and the world will revel in wonder and delight--"
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC