#rotten
A shallow soul weeps for release
a kindred ball rolls down a road,
you follow that road it reeks of grease
its wretched smell feels like home
the end of the road leads to a place
a town so lost so out of place
you feel at peace but scared inside you follow the ball and enter a home, it’s dark and gloomy, you feel so empty, the kindred ball leaves you alone, alone again but you don’t care. you ARE at home you’re one with all,
you look in the mirror you’re a sad bag of coal ,
you know it’s you it feels so cold,
you want to rot in this place called “Home”..
You shut them all out and crawl into a bed,
it’s ***** and disgusting but you are nothing.
so now all you do is fall down,
you are sound asleep gone away,
you can’t wake up , you know your place.
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 8:50 AM UTC
When I was younger,
I'd change the station,
At the first sign of an Olivia Rodrigo song.
When I was younger,
I never knew the toll someone could take on you,
The way they could change you,
In a way nobody seems to understand.
Now that I'm here,
Listening to every single Olivia song,
I understand the things a person taken by love will do.
Now that I'm here,
I know what it's like to wreck your life,
For the hope you'll get something back.
At times I still want to take it back,
Fold into your arms,
Defeated, but loved.
At times I hate myself,
For latching onto your memory.
That I let you hog a part of me,
Can you please go away?
Aug 11, 2025
Aug 11, 2025 at 8:51 PM UTC
It's rotten work
It is for me
If it's me
It's rotten work
To get up in the morning
To keep breathing
It's rotten work
To make coffee
And drink water
It's rotten work
To eat when I'm not hungry
And get dressed every day
It's rotten work
It is to me
If it's me
It's rotten work
To go to work
To pay my bills
It's rotten work
To fake normalcy
And mask whatever the hell this is
It's rotten work
To not just sleep
Sleep and sleep and sleep
It's rotten work
It is for me
If it's me
It's rotten work
To drive each day
And not off the highway
It's rotten work
To be alive
And keep caring for myself–or trying to
It's rotten work
Because all I want to do
Is not talk, not eat, not drink
Just...sleep.
Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 5:00 AM UTC
I’ve seen her once in shattered dreams,
A flicker drowned in silent screams.
She passed me by—untouched, unknown,
Yet carved her name into my bone.
She never looked, she never saw
The way her absence split my jaw.
I stitched her face from scraps of air,
And filled the gaps with quiet prayer.
She was never mine—
Not even close.
But something in her
Felt like home.
I don’t know her,
Not the way I need.
But still she haunts
My every plead.
She walks through me in every crowd,
Too bright, too soft, too far, too loud.
I memorized the way she breathes
Though she’s never even spoken to me.
I’ve built a shrine from passing glances,
A temple forged from phantom chances.
One smile and I’d lose my mind—
But she keeps her gaze,
And leaves me blind.
If she knew—
Would she run?
Would she scream?
Would she come undone?
She isn’t mine.
She never will be.
But still I wait
Where no one sees me.
I never touched her...
But some nights,
I still wake up
smelling her on my hands.
Her lips still burn on my neck.
She breathes through the cracks in me.
She dances in static and screen glow.
She’s never come home—
but I never let her go.
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 10:52 PM UTC
i am in love with the fruit just out of my reach
and though i could wait for it to fall
i know it would be rotten by then
i’ve had visions of our romance; in night, in sleep
holding the secret of our memories in my mind
but they’re all visions, not mine to keep
they’re all trying to tear us apart
he’s trying to convince you to leave
all because i said he couldn’t take my purity
and that wildcat started rumors about me
he made up things i said
so you would view me badly
but please, my starlight, don’t stop shining
though i know you’ll leave eventually
just not right now
he is pouring water on your dimming fire
he is your favorite tree, but
that branch is lifting you higher
Jul 23, 2025
Jul 23, 2025 at 2:21 PM UTC
with milk-stained lips
and spoiled tears
i've unearthed myself
from the black tar
that is mother
i did not cry at first
then with a punch
she carved me
with jagged corners
sharp enough to hurt
it is not a birth
but an exorcism
a regurgitation
of a rotten heart
but it's still a heart
ba-dump
ba-dump
i am warm not by blood
gasoline fills my lungs
ba-dump, i'm on fire
"ba-dump, ba-dump"
are my first words
it's baneful magic
my mother too hollow
to understand
my arrival is an omen
she calls me "consumption"
i devoured my mother
and spit out the soil
i am sick and i am also full
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 8:53 AM UTC
another wasted battlefield.
ground smoking,
haze-choked.
bright afternoon zenith
crowning the only victor—
war.
sunlight skates
across the maze of bodies,
dried blood,
dreams ripped open like unsent letters.
it glints from the angle of death
and dances a shuffle
to music from a silent plane.
what am I to you
now that the wind
carries this stench?
a promise wrapped in vengeance.
a rotten kiss
pressed to your lips
passed down the bloodline.
the crowd roars with laughter.
ghosts foot the bill.
the water table rises
to meet the candle flame—
a younger sibling
finally getting their growth spurt.
I am weightless in the flooding,
drowning in fire,
burning in the afterglow
of a thousand dying engines
cooling to the rhythm
of hell-soaked hearts
spent on passion.
I am you
in the longest shadow
of the face you hide.
I am the violence of survival
strutting its stuff,
proud as the blood-soaked mane
of a lion.
I am the beast
that preys.
ahh, men.
May 27, 2025
May 27, 2025 at 9:30 AM UTC
i was born and on fire. my skin, open flesh wounds that bled onto anyone in a close vicinity. my face, a cloud of black dust. i knew that i had love in my heart to share with the world, but no one could see past the mold on my skin that would spread to them if they got too close. i was born into two things: a fruit that appeared ripe on the outside but leaked out a decayed, rotten mess, and the hands that opened said fruit with blood that held on. i watch the destruction i've made, that i didn't mean to make, but i believed that it was justified. i wait for someone to understand these words, not to pity me, but to find a part of themselves in me. i have found nobody. i fear that as of now, i am a walking, moldy model of decaying flesh and raw meat. i did not want to be this way. i did not want to be the black sheep. i did not want to be bad. i am a sculpture of wet clay that they could mold with their pure hands, and despite all that creativity in their alive and well minds, they have carved the word "rotten" in my flesh.
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May 26, 2025
May 26, 2025 at 11:18 PM UTC
I beg you teach me how to laugh alive.
It seems as if I've tightly forgotten.
But, please, only no sadness for the past.
All that I had before, is left out and rotten.
I beg you teach me to believe in miracles.
It seems as if I've wholly got stale.
But, please, only no fairy-tales and quodlibets.
You make them up so poorly and fail.
I beg you teach me not to cry by no means.
My tantrums are being not much help at all.
Yes, I'm a girl, and we're not forbidden.
But it's in vain. I've checked it all in whole.
I beg you teach me how to get old steadily.
I realize that it's about my time.
I promise not to argue or resist noway.
My life was generous to me just anytime.
If this's the case, I will continue moving.
My feet will lisp along the ground bit by bit.
And when I have no force at all to trudge behind,
I'll simply sit under the pine and hug my knees.
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 5:39 PM UTC
I feel how I believe an apple with worms must feel. I am aware of my desire to ripen and be eaten, and I am also aware of the ***** crawling creatures inside of me. I will be cut open, and they will see the dirt brown rotting of my core. It is a tragedy that I could've been like those sweet, red apples, and it is a tragedy that I never could've been like them as well.
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 11:49 PM UTC
I’ll tell you a story, one you’ve forgotten.
About an apple tree with roots that are rotten.
This tree made apples, deformed, not round.
Spoiled and smelling, they fell to the ground.
Near to the tree, they seemed far from useful.
No creature would eat them to make themselves full.
But these apple seeds were untouched, unspoiled.
By removing the rot, in water that boiled,
The farmer could purify these seeds,
Use them for his needs,
Even though they were rotten.
Don’t let this story be forgotten.
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 8:49 PM UTC
I was a ****** hopping trains,
Strung out on morphine
When they hired me at the mine.
That same story
Is much like mine,
Only there were other guys.
No, in mine too.
They orchestrated and I played instrument,
They used me as a patsy for their wasteful deeds.
Did they have you use an explosive device?
Did they have you use a pistol?
Did you shoot with a rifle?
Did they give you poison?
I sailed the rivers in a basket,
And my sight was not obscured by the reeds.
Overhead, the clouds cleared
And in my heart was a compass
Which lent to me direction
Under these starry skies.
I sampled all the miseries & delights,
I encompassed all of life:
I was a clap & echo in time.
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 3:24 AM UTC
Some people not All,
have very bad behavior
It Encourages others
to have misbehavior
Some people carry a
Negative Demeanor
To the point Positive
people are influenced
to become meaner
This is a intuition but
more like a Hunch
That one Bad Apple
Spoils the whole Bunch
It simply refers to someone
who creates problems,
Get rid of that Rotten Apple
And that will solve them
Remember these words
and take it to Mind
Those Rotton old Apples
aren't so very kind
Beware of Rotten Apples
just trust your Hunch That
One Rotten Apple
will Spoil the Whole Bunch
By: B.R
Date: 10/23/2022
Oct 2, 2024
Oct 2, 2024 at 5:18 PM UTC
A wave of tears gradually carries away the tides of night
Alongside the river that weeps in its current plight
Unheard songs play, to the dead man who loves to sing
A dead silent night, for two lovers to bury the hatchet
In the tomb of being dead asleep in their shared beds-
Waiting for what falsehoods all sweet dreams bring
As the rhyme for a kiss is _hiss;_ the cobra that loudly speaks,
She purrs and catwalks the runway- while her love is expensive
But we pay for it all, as the clock writes out a free verse
Filling poems to the taste of love, for the apple of my eye
A taste so bitter;- with a snake inside that bit my tongue
In a sole of time, the heart breaks- as roses tend to be forgotten
And unfortunately, the apple to my love had gone rotten.
Jul 9, 2024
Jul 9, 2024 at 7:16 AM UTC
Has shame dried
Cranberry bogs
On cotton
Have hormones peaked
Or have the eggs spoiled,
Turned rotten
Is there more to a woman
Than her ****** functions
Or will she do as she's told
And remain in her place
On the bottom
May 1, 2023
May 1, 2023 at 9:13 AM UTC
Oh how a rotted home aches.
Floorboards agonize,
their faces betray
a life's frozen mirth.
A shattered window,
caked in cobweb
calls to her daughter in the wind.
Footprints erased by dust.
Photographs wilted and grey.
Oh how a rotted home aches.
Apr 16, 2022
Apr 16, 2022 at 1:53 AM UTC
Rotten smell.
Stale water.
In this well –
a monster.
Twisted horns,
horrid maw –
a wild beast!
You would know...
You entrapped it in there,
but to leave, don't you dare.
It is stuck
in the dark –
cannot run
nor attack.
The beast calls
from the pit –
you can hear
it weep.
You entrapped it in there...
Its sad cries, you must bear.
Oct 13, 2021
Oct 13, 2021 at 10:23 PM UTC
the bad you gave me
clears away from my system
you no longer live in the depts of my being
i no longer give you the authority
the rotten you gave me
disappears so easily
you were no solid
i now see that clearly
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 11:49 PM UTC
If I were like air then I'd breathe you.
As I sit in the the bowl and observe.
I'd never succeed in the quest that I'm freed.
I'll rot though, if I had the nerve.
Just take me and pick as I ripen.
Bite me, as nectar escapes to your chin.
Enraptured by spell to entice you again.
And feast on sweet secrets within.
But leave me and pass with your ignorance.
Overlooked as I signal my true end of days.
For I will repay you with sorrow.
As my beauty fades, waving farewell decays.
Aug 13, 2021
Aug 13, 2021 at 11:38 AM UTC
excruciating disgust boiling inside
push down into my wounds
bleed myself dry
because i am but a weak man
with no spine
looking above
spit dripping down my lip
salt excreted out of my pores
gasping for the strength to melt away
i cry at night
rotting away because i’m not right
misused and disregarded
i am the rotten apple
when you picked me
you were mistaken
because you didn’t check the other side
Aug 3, 2021
Aug 3, 2021 at 2:50 PM UTC
"Be bold instead of broken."
Piece by piece
I created my Heaven.
Each time you entered;
took something from my garden.
Keep coming and keep going,
in an endless loop.
Rotting everything,
whatever comes to your way,
STOP this SCARIFICE...!
A voice SHOUTED from inside.
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 6:11 AM UTC
I'm the little seed trying to grow from inside out,
Your ugly is showing, trying to contain the sprout
The perfect little facade of yours
The red strawberry pores
Will get bitter as the time rolls about
Not even having tried to figure me out
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 1:08 PM UTC
I could stare at myself in the mirror for hours.
It starts in my extremities.
a chill creeps its way into my abdomen,
and cements my joints.
The bacteria residing in my intestines
dine on my organs for supper,
they blow up my stomach until I'm
pregnant with air, my non-existent baby
forcing thick liquid out every orifice.
It tickles,
when the flies visit my rotted skin.
Their steps light and playful,
turn sinister, and force their way into my
open mouth to lay their eggs.
I wait, as the larvae devour
my brain tissue.
When I have nothing left to give,
I'll pull down my lower eyelid
and let the maggots slide out.
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 10:17 AM UTC
Feast or famine.
The dry summer or monsoon season.
It’s not as though he had
murdered me.
That would be easier to
prove. There would be
no hiding
the blood of it.
And how I did bleed—
years later,
red all over it.
Improper.
Fuel for the fire.
Combustible.
But nothing trembles
as I weigh the being
of my existence against
what stoppage.
Order or chaos.
Black or white.
What has been spoilt
rotten can never be
golden. These are
the questions I ask myself:
Am I loved? Do I
love? Can I love?
While there is the story
he tells himself, reassuringly:
It was just ***
It was just ***
Jan 2, 2021
Jan 2, 2021 at 8:19 PM UTC
Web caught trembling prey, blistering sadness in a shallow grave
Repulsive, rotten ***** stench, locked box of putrid sorrow
Blood clot hidden trench, vile secretion burrow
Wolf-dressed goblin ***** muttering incantations
Teetering on a broken fence, seething hatred regurgitation
Greedy, evil, spineless, ***** Cunning, patient, *****
One head desire, two face succubus
Speech craft, forked tongue. Slithering witch, foul gargoyle
Rebuke the venomous. Castrate the young. Stoke the funeral pyre
Incubate the serpent fetus. Demon, devil, liar
Nevermore, sinister toil. Bone-covered soil
I smite her without a flicker of remorse
Death to the succubus. Death to Venus
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC