#decompose - Hello Poetry

I consume the particles that nobody dares to touch. I consume the ash Left off from a burnt body. I gnaw at the bones You left behind with rotting meat. I claw away whatever I can't eat. I consume the parts of brain That God could never reach. I drink your blood Until you can no longer feel. I watch you decompose Right beneath my feet, I watch as you become A pile of rotting peat. I will consume what is left 'Till you can no longer weep.

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May 9

May 9, 2026 at 2:06 AM UTC

Dumba

I consume

I consume the particles that nobody dares to touch. I consume the ash Left off from a burnt body. I gnaw at the bones You left behind with rotting meat. I claw away whatever I can't eat. I consume the parts of brain That God could never reach. I drink your blood Until you can no longer feel. I watch you decompose Right beneath my feet, I watch as you become A pile of rotting peat. I will consume what is left 'Till you can no longer weep.

17

days crawl by and humidity stills the air. the black flies are late this season, though around here, most things are. below the gnat line, girls like me seldom get to die easily, perfumed powders masking the scent of illness, flushed cheeks and damp foreheads donned as our feeble bodies recline on fainting couches to delicately languish away. we know that there’s a certain beauty to decomposition, to fungus gnats invading potted soil, to fruit flies nesting in sink drains. we know that rotting is a clock that never stops, tallying each unflinching, humid second while the days crawl by.

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Jun 22, 2023

Jun 22, 2023 at 8:04 PM UTC

moniqueezeh

flood watch

days crawl by and humidity stills the air. the black flies are late this season, though around here, most things are. below the gnat line, girls like me seldom get to die easily, perfumed powders masking the scent of illness, flushed cheeks and damp foreheads donned as our feeble bodies recline on fainting couches to delicately languish away. we know that there’s a certain beauty to decomposition, to fungus gnats invading potted soil, to fruit flies nesting in sink drains. we know that rotting is a clock that never stops, tallying each unflinching, humid second while the days crawl by.

17

I want to die out here with you I want to decompose in your arms our flesh slowly growing softer, and softer as our skin rots and our organs decay our bones slowly growing closer, and closer until our leg bones are not separated by leg flesh and our hip bones are not separated by hip flesh and our hearts seep together over our rib cages and our skulls press together, chin to forehead dry leaves tickle our feet and the cool wind soothes our hot bones and the earth covers our clasped hands until they can no longer tell who was me and who was you

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Oct 22, 2020

Oct 22, 2020 at 7:13 PM UTC

bloodklotz

mature

I want to die out here with you I want to decompose in your arms our flesh slowly growing softer, and softer as our skin rots and our organs decay our bones slowly growing closer, and closer until our leg bones are not separated by leg flesh and our hip bones are not separated by hip flesh and our hearts seep together over our rib cages and our skulls press together, chin to forehead dry leaves tickle our feet and the cool wind soothes our hot bones and the earth covers our clasped hands until they can no longer tell who was me and who was you

7

you forgot to take it to the curb you forgot to empty it your mind had been full overflowing with the memories of us it sat there for awhile you wanted to keep them but they began to decompose perish rot to their cores and the smell lingered you started to bag it all up one by one you put pieces of us in a jet black plastic bag with a twist tie and walked us to the curb

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Mar 19, 2019

Mar 19, 2019 at 1:38 AM UTC

Lunawrenn

garbage

you forgot to take it to the curb you forgot to empty it your mind had been full overflowing with the memories of us it sat there for awhile you wanted to keep them but they began to decompose perish rot to their cores and the smell lingered you started to bag it all up one by one you put pieces of us in a jet black plastic bag with a twist tie and walked us to the curb

18

Under the birthstones in the carcass yard is where the flesh tombs lie. Decomposing for three long years. Eradicating memories, dreams and fears. Becoming next, the black gloop treacle of putrification. Now bones, just old bones is the remain of what was once, a spirit with a name. Poetry by Kaydee.

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Dec 24, 2018

Dec 24, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC

SazKells

Flesh Tombs

Under the birthstones in the carcass yard is where the flesh tombs lie. Decomposing for three long years. Eradicating memories, dreams and fears. Becoming next, the black gloop treacle of putrification. Now bones, just old bones is the remain of what was once, a spirit with a name. Poetry by Kaydee.

12

Not long after I laid myself upon the Earth, I began to grow roots, suckling the green. Before you knew it, they borrowed farther, Far from me, crawling faster away. To be so toxic, yet making myself at home. I needed some good, to prune the bad. As I gaze at the storm clouds rolling, I wait for the rain, but not before the tears. There is a bitterness, rotten deep within. To be so disconnected, it is painful. So I lay, disgusted with my own ruin, Wishing the woods would cure me. What a dumb little lie, who do I kid. I will decompose with pestilence. How dare I come here, how dare I weep. But here I'll stay, a graveyard of grief.

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Mar 27, 2018

Mar 27, 2018 at 12:29 PM UTC

devin-ortiz

Rotwood Groans

Not long after I laid myself upon the Earth, I began to grow roots, suckling the green. Before you knew it, they borrowed farther, Far from me, crawling faster away. To be so toxic, yet making myself at home. I needed some good, to prune the bad. As I gaze at the storm clouds rolling, I wait for the rain, but not before the tears. There is a bitterness, rotten deep within. To be so disconnected, it is painful. So I lay, disgusted with my own ruin, Wishing the woods would cure me. What a dumb little lie, who do I kid. I will decompose with pestilence. How dare I come here, how dare I weep. But here I'll stay, a graveyard of grief.

16

I don't want to write poetry. I want to rip apart my brain and feed it to my thoughts of decay. I do not want to think of you, because it is evidently clear that you cannot be a constant, So I shall extract you (and all the thoughts, words, and phrases too) from my mind. You may not enter this home, I locked you out long ago. Your little petty games did you no favours, tied tight to immaturity, it looked too much like not committed, so I sent it all away from me. In this case, not knowing no grey is an advantage, I would rather not choose to sedate my appetite with your little crumbs of "love" (good morning, how are you? every birthday). It may take years but I won't forget that I am not in the business of decomposing yet.

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Oct 15, 2016

Oct 15, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC

crimsyy

Too Young To Die

I don't want to write poetry. I want to rip apart my brain and feed it to my thoughts of decay. I do not want to think of you, because it is evidently clear that you cannot be a constant, So I shall extract you (and all the thoughts, words, and phrases too) from my mind. You may not enter this home, I locked you out long ago. Your little petty games did you no favours, tied tight to immaturity, it looked too much like not committed, so I sent it all away from me. In this case, not knowing no grey is an advantage, I would rather not choose to sedate my appetite with your little crumbs of "love" (good morning, how are you? every birthday). It may take years but I won't forget that I am not in the business of decomposing yet.

28

Will you decompose me? Take me apart piece by piece Bring me back to my roots Until I am no more Your branches, they reach out Scratchy and rough, but warm In your embrace, I am vulnerable But at the same time strong Now flourish, the flowers And fruits of our labour Don't leave, I'll be powerless I know you will, sooner or later That's when I truly decompose Not with you, not even close I decompose to nothing Exactly what I am to you

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Apr 16, 2015

Apr 16, 2015 at 5:49 AM UTC

hannaheq

Decompose

Will you decompose me? Take me apart piece by piece Bring me back to my roots Until I am no more Your branches, they reach out Scratchy and rough, but warm In your embrace, I am vulnerable But at the same time strong Now flourish, the flowers And fruits of our labour Don't leave, I'll be powerless I know you will, sooner or later That's when I truly decompose Not with you, not even close I decompose to nothing Exactly what I am to you

18

Come child, Wash those cobwebs from your eyes, let not that sadness clutter your vision. I know your mistakes and faults keep you up, wrap them away, your silk thoughts, and bury them within you. We all know misery thrives on sorrow, and infected hands handle peace. I see the black veins in your gaunt hands, and soon we will all know , the messenger of mercy, is the heart- becoming silent, only speaking with a language of tears. And not even you my dear, can escape from the sticky entanglement that murders beauty and passion.

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Jun 17, 2014

Jun 17, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC

born-of-fire

CobWebs

Come child, Wash those cobwebs from your eyes, let not that sadness clutter your vision. I know your mistakes and faults keep you up, wrap them away, your silk thoughts, and bury them within you. We all know misery thrives on sorrow, and infected hands handle peace. I see the black veins in your gaunt hands, and soon we will all know , the messenger of mercy, is the heart- becoming silent, only speaking with a language of tears. And not even you my dear, can escape from the sticky entanglement that murders beauty and passion.

15