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#stench
walking near carobs stench imprisons lilies scent smoky grasses kiss
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Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 8:08 AM UTC
Walking by the Stench
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
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Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
Death to Venus
A tiny breeze Cleans the stagnant air Around my bedroom. I thank the gods Nobody comes closer to me, So they cannot smell The stench of ***** Unwashed masses of hair. A breeze that brings The smell of tear gas, I sense the protesters Didn’t want to leave. Now the smell Of live death Fades away Mixed with scents Of freedom and dignity. I wish I was there I used to be clean, I used to move around, When routines kept me going Instead of being petrified By the following day; I used to be useful Or so I’ve heard.
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Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 12:29 PM UTC
The stench and the breeze
When I was growing up in Wisconsin, dairy farms were everywhere. It was always fun visiting my aunt and uncle's dairy farm, even though they put me to work. For many years the only bathroom they had was away from the house! I read an article today about people complaining about smells coming from dairy farms and pig farms. It reminded me when our family would drive the 3 1/2 hours to visit Grandma and Grandpa. Some farms hardly had any bad odor, but others reeked! This was especially horrible to us city kids. "Mom, what's that smell?" my sisters and I would ask every time. We asked Mom because she'd answer us. Dad would only laugh. Good times! Midwest dairy farms intermittent putrid stench- fun childhood road trips
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Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 9:01 PM UTC
Childhood Road Trips
The acrid, rather salty aroma surrounds me, cloud of it invading my nostrils and tongue as the salty liquid drips past my parched, cracked, lightly parted lips as my throat is made hoarse by screaming with all my might as we score the winning Goal
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Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
Game
I am afraid. My inner demons are taking control like never before. I feel how the darkness makes me rot from inside. The stench from my walking corpse. I am so afraid. I feel how they're winning the last battle. The person I was is dying, beyond saving. There's no turning back, I'm a living dead.
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Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 5:54 AM UTC
Corpse
There once did live an unfortunate soul who from childhood had been diagnosed with a very rare unknown medical condition that also defined its own awkward position. And as it went, it just didn’t know when to stop until one day it received an unexpected notice informing it that its time now was almost up just moments before its heart bled into a cup. Then instead of normal blood there was seen that which looked like the colour of diarrhoea and the stench resembled that of its breath last exhaled from its gaping mouth at death. ______________________________
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Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
The Unfortunate Soul
Blood drips, oozes, In lurid globes Down the shadowed folds of heavy velvet. cloying stench, shattered china. Your spine is twisted under stretched yellow skin, Disjointed vertebrae break through, glinting white. Your lost words heavy on your tongue, Ringing in my ears. Every villain believes they are a hero dear. even me.
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Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 3:17 PM UTC
Blood Drips
some claimed the paddies smelled like fetid fishes, ***** some said like the dung of oxen, peasants or other beasts who squatted there   others whispered the fields reeked of death   while I found no odor to be grander evidence of life’s languorous longing for itself   we marched those mired moors, as hunters of invisible prey--ourselves too being stalked, or worse, mocked by other hairless apes,   who like we, sought light, but could divine darkness far better, for we knew little of night, its sacred riddles   some said those places reeked   of rotted flesh, the festering relics of our deeds I inhaled deeply, slowly   only rich, fecund stories were revealed to me, ones I fear yet this silent night
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Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 7:37 AM UTC
the killing fields, before the dawn
I'm drying my face with a hand towel The smell of you fills my nostrils And I'm back in the basement again. Not 21 drunk in her boyfriend's bathroom But 7, alone in a musty basement. 7, alone in your room. The smell takes me over and I have to pretend I can function again. Pretend the look on my face is only from exhaustion. That wouldn't be a lie. Your image in my mind makes me grow tired and sleep isn't enough to cure this kind of immensity. Inhaling through my nose And exhaling from my mouth I continue to breath you in. Washing the impurities from my face while I let you infect my body, my mind and my entire being. I must keep it together Cannot break, you don't deserve this type of power. My face is dry, so is my pride I'm tired of wringing the despair out of my bones and letting it soak- only to grow roots beneath my feet and vines on the backbone I have molded for myself Out of tragedy and abuse and sheet metal too hard to sink your empathy through. But enough to let you sink your teeth into. Break me from memory rebuild me from the times you have tried to smother my willpower. You cannot do this to me anymore I remove the towel from my face Look at the person standing before me Built from nothing but her own struggle. Rising from the ashes like all the times before. You are the only form of soldier a uniform like your smile can wear today. Give yourself a Purple Heart you've fought this battle and deserve some honor. Bruised you may be, purple has always been your color. Tragedy has always looked so **** good on you.
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Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 11:47 PM UTC
Stench
I'm drying my face with a hand towel The smell of you fills my nostrils And I'm back in the basement again. Not 21 drunk in her boyfriend's bathroom But 7, alone in a musty basement. 7, alone in your room. The smell takes me over and I have to pretend I can function again. Pretend the look on my face is only from exhaustion. That wouldn't be a lie. Your image in my mind makes me grow tired and sleep isn't enough to cure this kind of immensity. Inhaling through my nose And exhaling from my mouth I continue to breath you in. Washing the impurities from my face while I let you infect my body, my mind and my entire being. I must keep it together Cannot break, you don't deserve this type of power. My face is dry, so is my pride I'm tired of wringing the despair out of my bones and letting it soak- only to grow roots beneath my feet and vines on the backbone I have molded for myself Out of tragedy and abuse and sheet metal too hard to sink your empathy through. But enough to let you sink your teeth into. Break me from memory rebuild me from the times you have tried to smother my willpower. You cannot do this to me anymore I remove the towel from my face Look at the person standing before me Built from nothing but her own struggle. Rising from the ashes like all the times before. You are the only form of soldier a uniform like your smile can wear today. Give yourself a Purple Heart you've fought this battle and deserve some honor. Bruised you may be, purple has always been your color. Tragedy has always looked so **** good on you.
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43
Your Fragrance is spreading Everyone, you are enticing But I know your stench is digging Deeper, into you it keeps finding Your soul that it will be embracing
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Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
The Great Pretender
Public transportation reeks of human sweat; the unwashed bodies of common man pressed together like flaked tuna fish in a can, only less well preserved. What folly bathing can be; as it hides the dark animal truth of who and what we are. The stench we turn our noses up from whilst we traverse throughout our day holds within it's sour notes our true identity. We are not nicely scented soaps and perfectly groomed hair. We are not our finely pressed clothes or smoothly manicured hands. We are creatures of this planet with a developed mind capable of great feats but our greatest achievement thus far may be the lies we have convinced ourselves to believe. And so we pack into busses, trains and planes and do our best not to breath the same air as our fellow passengers on this trip called life.
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Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
Nothing More than Animals