the ink is ashen on my tongue
on my back
skin against the cold floor
i feel
the cobwebs on my face
dust layered over my nose
breathing in the decay
stale sunlight haunts me still
when did i become part of the decor
when did my face meld
with the floor
the atrophy of self here
the presentation of my dismay
make sense of my muted senses
rooted in this place
like a mycelium brain
surroundings so quiet
i hear my own heartbeat
lungs burn with every breath i take
still even then it's like watching myself
in third person
as my heart beats
and my lungs burn
i lie here watching each second go by
still.
it's like the silence is a living thing
pressing down on my decaying body
holding me down
looming over me as i
lift my head
and peer
down towards my stomach
watching. wondering.
what it is that grows out of the
gashes in my body
resigned to my fallen self
what have i given birth too
your intentions were so clear.
i was not to walk again.
but lay here
silently watching myself die.
festering in the pale light
watching the dust settle on who i used to be
part of the decor aren't i?
well i would rather you just burn me.
scar me into the floor scorching
you've already carved me to the core searching
what did you find, what did you find?
down deep inside, what did i hide?
exhaustion wracks my ruined body
each breath i draw is harder than the last
i feel myself shutting down
and how my heartbeats slow
black spots dancing in my vision
dizzy around the edges
it's time i guess
to say goodbye to these cracked walls
that have kept me company
i can feel the beginnings of a
low guttural growl in me
it's like some part of me still rebels
against death.
it doesn't matter to me.
my body isn't real anymore
i think about you.
did you find it
did it make you happy
thinking about me cooking in the puddle of my own blood
did you smile
rub your fingers with relish when my guts spilled
tears slip down my face i think
you always did tell me i looked pretty when i cried.
it's strange
hating you hurts almost as much as loving you did
did the knife give you the forgiveness i never will?
will the fire rid you of the blood you've spilled?
it was never ink i hope you see my face in everything
i may be gone but my last gift is guilt
icy like the pool of blood on this floor
my reflection will follow yours
you wanted to be rid of me;
but now
you never will.
Miraculous Matter. Our Happily Never After. First feels like a scene from a movie with sad tragic ending and it is, in that only a person in touch with the character's soul could resemble and assemble meaning to feeling not just feeling but also breathing and what that breath could be worth from a spirit to another spirit. So Second It feels like the poets wrote with the spirit. And they were chosen to deliver the spectrum of meaning of feeling and breath for characters whose lasts end in a last yearning for that same meaning in the lost escape of love that ended in bloody deadly fashion that the character would compliment thyself to the likeness of the fashioned rooms ornamentation. Then Third. The falling to and the not trusting of death in the experience of death in the black spots dancing in vision and the silence feeling like a living thing as if in the of it metaphysics death speaks in silence or better yet lives. And fourth I feel the preference to be burnt feels a yearning call to end the finale of this Hellacious relationship With A Hellacious fire that scorches the scars proving some relationships are like hell with many unsettling demons that carve the hearts of others in search for what they can't find in their own. This can make love bittersweet hence hate in its prominence can only bear memory of the bitter taste that stung and found a way to hurt chasing for sweetness that was fleeting in the battle with bitterness like ice cream in a sweatning heat. Then lastly Acceptance. Fates Acceptance , one I imagine we all may have to go through. In It We Are Clung to lasting to a lasting clinging feeling to another. Thus whoever's we cling to who we clung to,through or by them clinging themselves to us with a intertwining of emotion, stimulation. Relation Ship Wrecked. Lost in an ocean whose tides saw pretty in tears. It's almost funny how one who'd want to escape like lost love, escape love and turn it into a patent of dread that when two are stuck, the duelingo of their demons daze, deranged in the devils dance, leaving a trace of a trance of romance a missed or mistaken chance. Glory Is Dead. And One Must Mend By Getting Rid And Running Away. And That's where we meet our final contradiction, how can you get rid or run away from something you designed and made and designated it to haunt you. The Cling. Being The Character's Miraculous Matter.
(I wasn't going from any specific point, I was just going through all of them in mixture of how they made me feel as the poem whole, and this is just how it came in its real authentic Order)
PEACE ✌️ ☮️ 🎭
Oh my god, that's beautiful, I love that! I really like the ending especially. Is it about how "me" will haunt "you" forever? Is it about "me"'s decision to never die??? I love that tone of 'you cant ever make me leave, you cant ever make me leave' it is HAUNTING it is HARROWING it is GRIEF and you wrote it beautifully!!!!! congrats! waiting to see more :0
This is thrilling, speaking to self in third person. The art is amazing.. but why did you let yourself die?
Hiiiii I am here I would have reviewed sooner but I had no time and this might be kinda short because I'm at school >:(
I really really like this. The title is super fitting, and I love the figurative language, like
I really find this engaging. I wish I had your guys' poetry skills! I think the mood is really lovely, I tend to write darker things and enjoy them, so I really like the comparisons in this.
One detail I might add is see in this section
You might rewrite it as
when did i become part of the decor?
when did my face meld,
meld with the floor?
This would just be a more lyrical detail I might add but of course you don't have to.
Anyway I really loved this you guys did a great job on it truly.
Such a beautiful decor of glossed red on the floors.. %uD83E%uDD29
I YEARN FOR A POETRY COLLAB. love this, love y'all, this is so well-written!! "I may be gone but my last gift is guilt" like what??? that is so powerful