"rigormortis" poems - Hello Poetry

The sweet hum of a beautiful melody. The deep aroma of morning exhaust fumes. The excited chatter in a foreign tone. Clip clopping of high heeled shoes speeding up to catch a bus. The homeless man wrapped in a rotten sleeping bag as close to rigormortis as a live man gets with his palm open but his eyes closed. The twang of perfume mixed with cigarette smoke floating effortlessly up to the blue sky above. Marvellous architectural wonders rising from the ground, their dominating shadows line the streets to serve as a reminder that our forefathers laid down the road we still walk today.

0

May 19, 2015

May 19, 2015 at 4:58 AM UTC

rh-78

London stroll

The sweet hum of a beautiful melody. The deep aroma of morning exhaust fumes. The excited chatter in a foreign tone. Clip clopping of high heeled shoes speeding up to catch a bus. The homeless man wrapped in a rotten sleeping bag as close to rigormortis as a live man gets with his palm open but his eyes closed. The twang of perfume mixed with cigarette smoke floating effortlessly up to the blue sky above. Marvellous architectural wonders rising from the ground, their dominating shadows line the streets to serve as a reminder that our forefathers laid down the road we still walk today.

7

dead people understand me i should visit a cemetry 'cause i think my time has run out on earth i refuse to tip-toe through life to arrive safely at death 'cause all it takes is one shot one syringe to induce a blood clot i can see the needle from here, its quite appealing or i could get up on the table and free fall from the ceiling the pain will be temporary, permanent will be the horror i hope my mom doesnt walk in on a corpse, i should warn her its funny how the floor becomes a second home during rigormortis the heart gives up, fingers tingling, this sight is gorgeous no future in sight, look in my dead eyes, they're glistening this should have never happend, pain is now an addiction dead people understand me i should visit a cemetry

0

Jul 4, 2014

Jul 4, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC

fifteenfifty

Dead People Understand Me

dead people understand me i should visit a cemetry 'cause i think my time has run out on earth i refuse to tip-toe through life to arrive safely at death 'cause all it takes is one shot one syringe to induce a blood clot i can see the needle from here, its quite appealing or i could get up on the table and free fall from the ceiling the pain will be temporary, permanent will be the horror i hope my mom doesnt walk in on a corpse, i should warn her its funny how the floor becomes a second home during rigormortis the heart gives up, fingers tingling, this sight is gorgeous no future in sight, look in my dead eyes, they're glistening this should have never happend, pain is now an addiction dead people understand me i should visit a cemetry

16

I was suffocating in my grave So I sat up on my tombstone All others seemed to be sleeping Only I was sitting all alone A soulless spirit of a dead Is what I have become After meeting with my death I became useless and numb My body lay covered in blood And went unnoticed for hours Till then rigormortis started Wilting like the fallen flowers I was stabbed multiple times Before being thrown in the drain Robbers snatched everything And left me dead in the rain It surely was not my death call, To die early than my actual time Now I dwell in this spirit form Remembering the hideous crime... ©sim

0

Aug 14, 2017

Aug 14, 2017 at 4:15 AM UTC

Seema

Death, Unplanned!

I was suffocating in my grave So I sat up on my tombstone All others seemed to be sleeping Only I was sitting all alone A soulless spirit of a dead Is what I have become After meeting with my death I became useless and numb My body lay covered in blood And went unnoticed for hours Till then rigormortis started Wilting like the fallen flowers I was stabbed multiple times Before being thrown in the drain Robbers snatched everything And left me dead in the rain It surely was not my death call, To die early than my actual time Now I dwell in this spirit form Remembering the hideous crime... ©sim

21

The total futility of life and its end is unfightable, The only perfect form is fluid, Proper posture to avoid catastrophe is complete relaxation, Be the corpse before rigormortis.

0

Aug 6, 2016

Aug 6, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC

dishes

Untitled

The total futility of life and its end is unfightable, The only perfect form is fluid, Proper posture to avoid catastrophe is complete relaxation, Be the corpse before rigormortis.

4

Have you mastered the art of war? You, artist of destruction, poet of pain and devastation, do you see these bodies pierced by our technological evolution? Skin polluted by metal stretched, torn, and eviscerated. Mass graves of stillness; Parents who hope this is just some nightmare. Life relegated to rigormortis. Bone thin, friendly corpses that touch such fierce coldness. Photos that beg in black and white for the shutters to stop. Instead, we shudder and start to forget all those body parts. No ticking clock, just silent hearts; While you acquiesce I sit in shadowy corners and obsess over our well-equipped darkness as each victim becomes a painting. Some splatter art spreading all the shades of red that they know, while others are punctured pointillism. But each body was once someone. Now they become a hollow chamber in a soldier’s gun as a wounded warrior scratches another notch in their already razor scarred memory.

0

Oct 23, 2016

Oct 23, 2016 at 7:51 PM UTC

graff1980

The Art Of War

Have you mastered the art of war? You, artist of destruction, poet of pain and devastation, do you see these bodies pierced by our technological evolution? Skin polluted by metal stretched, torn, and eviscerated. Mass graves of stillness; Parents who hope this is just some nightmare. Life relegated to rigormortis. Bone thin, friendly corpses that touch such fierce coldness. Photos that beg in black and white for the shutters to stop. Instead, we shudder and start to forget all those body parts. No ticking clock, just silent hearts; While you acquiesce I sit in shadowy corners and obsess over our well-equipped darkness as each victim becomes a painting. Some splatter art spreading all the shades of red that they know, while others are punctured pointillism. But each body was once someone. Now they become a hollow chamber in a soldier’s gun as a wounded warrior scratches another notch in their already razor scarred memory.

32

The total futility of life and its end is unfightable, The only perfect form is fluid, Proper posture to avoid catastrophe is complete relaxation, Be the corpse before rigormortis.

0

Aug 6, 2016

Aug 6, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC

dishes

Untitled

The total futility of life and its end is unfightable, The only perfect form is fluid, Proper posture to avoid catastrophe is complete relaxation, Be the corpse before rigormortis.

4