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"mudman" poems
A pile of mud moving, re-animated: you watch a trail of stink —striking everyone's senses— I'm leaving behind. A man of mud walks toward you, sliding smooth on the façade of a greasy pavement coming at you longing, to solicit your pity —my body crumbles at each step I ****** towards you while watching myself being torn apart. I stretch my arm, and then my stiff fingers, each soaked in tears, to grab whatever I can out of you. I disintegrate into emptiness at every attempt I make —all futile, meaningless. My muddied lips set apart to plead, but only a screeching noise comes out, squeaking, like that of a mouse. You, the one with a shovel —sharp is the blade— scream at me, whacking my clay-man body with your murderous tool you hold so tight —this sight of Mudman must be hideous indeed to those pupils of innocence, burning brightly with consuming hatred.     Lying on the floor     flattened, unaccepted,     the muddied lips     that survived the shattering blow     are squirming still.     You grind them under your heel     merciless.
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Aug 28, 2021
Aug 28, 2021 at 8:19 PM UTC
saul_bae
Mudman
A pile of mud moving, re-animated: you watch a trail of stink —striking everyone's senses— I'm leaving behind. A man of mud walks toward you, sliding smooth on the façade of a greasy pavement coming at you longing, to solicit your pity —my body crumbles at each step I ****** towards you while watching myself being torn apart. I stretch my arm, and then my stiff fingers, each soaked in tears, to grab whatever I can out of you. I disintegrate into emptiness at every attempt I make —all futile, meaningless. My muddied lips set apart to plead, but only a screeching noise comes out, squeaking, like that of a mouse. You, the one with a shovel —sharp is the blade— scream at me, whacking my clay-man body with your murderous tool you hold so tight —this sight of Mudman must be hideous indeed to those pupils of innocence, burning brightly with consuming hatred.     Lying on the floor     flattened, unaccepted,     the muddied lips     that survived the shattering blow     are squirming still.     You grind them under your heel     merciless.
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