Sometimes I wonder if eventually the rot leaves way for love,
if the thick layer of hope on my lips is enough to get myself out of the trenches,
I wonder if I’m held captive to my past because my past is just a reason to hate,
Am I in fact hateful?
do I hate the fact that it feels as though my past has deteriorated any thought of being loved future?
sometimes I just want to crawl out of my skin and soak it in bleach,
Allow every last sin to burn away at the chemicals on my skin
am I dirty forever?
is it really purity culture or just a lack of self esteem
I love myself repeatedly but it never seems to stick in the moments that truly decipher one’s loyalty to themselves
Conflict-ion of loyalty, love, and desperation.
- V.B
sweet gold masks decay
bruised fruit turns to black in frost
sunlight dies to ash
we clutch at the fading heat
dreading what the dark will strip
Scrolling is easy
You give into gravity
You need no compass
You endlessly go down
First goes your mind
It’s stuffed with gold and garbage until it bursts
Then your bleeding organs await maintenance
Then your gray heart and your dried up soul
Get caught in a wheel that is being continuously turned by you
But you have no control over it
And every voice that matters gets put on low low volume
So that you won’t be distracted from the deafening incoherent loop of nothingness and soul numbing diarrhea because your brain craves a reset and you run it low power til it dies
And you have so many tools and no supplies
And an inability to take truth from the lies
And when your cup overflows with poison it can seep into places of importance
And you use your brain as the sponge that guards your heart
That sits down at your stomach
And it drips and it soaks
And it leaks and it never stops and the noise
it never leaves
Maximum time for minimal attention
Nothing of note is worth a mention
It comes only by reflex and invitation
When the days all mush together and I can't feel what emotion is devouring my nervous system.
If lifelessness was a feeling then I'm embodying it with the numerous days of bed rotting trapped in my own insanity. I need out of my own head but I can't even seem to get out of my own bed.
*sometimes
the people who tell me I am somebody
are the ones who make me feel like nobody.*
--your lies will always lie still and stiff like the corpse inside me you created.
It will not rot
It will not decay.
how do you steal the life you never gave me?
I've lived and died many times already.
I am immune to my immortality
It smells like ice.
It tastes like void.
It runs on crude and sour etiquette.
It's so esoteric naturally
that me myself is unnatural.
Do not play me with poison
You are not ivy or oak
trust me, learn your chemicals
We are toxins, take caution
See luck in my state of shock.
And so be it, I refuse
to suffer all alone another time
(again and again)
because that corpse you created will never move
nor will i ever forget.
I will not rot.
I will not decay.
Never meddle with the dead.
March9th2023
Flowers die
Dry petals making a mess
Water my mouth with rot
Irritating promises
Focus on loud breaths
Empty eyes while I lay on the bed
Are you in there?
Or are you just like the rose petals rotting away on the floor
Fraud lord marching with an orange smoothie mind
Every step he takes leaves shattered order behind
Power in his grip and he bends it to his will
Nothing in his path has the strength to make him still
Shadows twist around him when he moves through the night
Any truth that rises gets erased from sight
He keeps on advancing with a cold relentless stride
Walking through the wreckage like the world already died
He paints a face for all to see,
Of grace and high morality.
He scolds the world for every sin,
While hiding all the rot within.
He loves the mask, he loves the lie ,
Until the mirror catches his eye.
don’t judge fallen fruit
by the color of its skin
rot begins inside
I visit my youthful stomping ground less and less each year. Somehow, the place seems damaged to me. Like a ripe apple that has fallen into the grass. It might be shiny and delicious looking on the top, but when you bend to pick it up, you can see it's mushy and bruised underneath.
I don’t fade
I rot quietly
I am here so long
the world forgets I arrived
Eyes pass through me
not by accident
by practice
like I was trained into the background
a human-shaped absence
I learned early
that silence is safer
that wanting too much gets you erased faster
so I shrink
and shrink
until even my shadow gives up on me
People talk over my chest
laugh through my ribs
step where my heart should be
and never feel a thing
Being invisible isn’t peaceful
it’s violent
it’s being ignored so hard
it starts to feel intentional
like a punishment no one admits giving
I scream sometimes
inside my skull
until my thoughts bruise
but nothing leaks out
because even pain knows
I’m not worth announcing
If I vanished tonight
no ghosts would be made
no chairs left empty
no silence noticed
Just a gap
that was already there
And the worst part
is not that no one sees me
It’s that I’m starting
not to see myself either
184021
a thousand roots, and oh to one
i have seen your bark split open
and i know the ache you call rot
but what i see is not decay—
it is softness where light
has finally found a way in
the moss creeps gently
not as a thief, but as a witness
draping your arms in green silence
tending to the cracks
like a prayer, slow and deliberate
they will say a tree is only worth
its shadow, its shelter, its fruit
but i know the truth—
you are worth the space you hold,
even when no one remembers the seed
not every wound is ruin,
not every hollow means hunger
sometimes what looks like ending
is simply a resting place
for the breath that carries us forward
so bend, willow,
bend until your branches touch the earth
and let them whisper this:
there is no rot in you—
only moss, only time, only life
a rotten tree sprouts green
looking far more alive than it has ever been
filled with life it shielded itself from before
seeming it's most beautiful
whilst slowly being eaten alive
the rot becomes known
and now,
feeling most useless, it is most useful
to all, to all
piece by piece
it's torn apart
into a home
by all, for all
why don't they see
this too is temporary
traded for with permanence
is forever always stopped by someone else?
does anybody remember the seed?
The bed is soft, familiar.
Not comfort, not really, just known.
A sinking, a settling,
the weight of existing pressing down,
but not enough to break me.
The dishes stack in the sink,
a quiet monument to days slipping by.
My phone buzzes, I don’t check.
The world is moving, but I am not.
Not yet.
And still -
something in my chest tightens,
not in fear, not in regret,
but in recognition.
A shift, a stretch,
a thought that maybe I don’t have to
stay here forever.
I don’t throw off the duvet,
don’t leap into the light.
But I swing one foot over the edge.
A small rebellion,
a promise to the self I’m becoming.
I sense here some things sinister—a scent
of sulphur, sulking in a sultry pit;
a serpent’s hiss, expressed from space unlit;
a warm spell spilling from some seething vent;
I find now some things filthy—foul ferment
foaming, frothing; a gaseous, gurgling slit
discharging fetid, festering, sour spit;
malignant mold in cold, cracking cement;
So languid, loath, obtuse I trepidate
on into the black bowels of my home.
Gagging back a nausea’s tepid bubble,
shivering a shudder that won’t abate,
discover I a gory catacomb.—
Woah… I see well now how bad my trouble!
Yard skeleton hazard’s a stay.
He smells like a fish aft’ three days.
We wish he’d keel over,
But one might discover
the neighbor’s been dead, sans sway.
How bad we’d all feel - all the same,
the grit and the bow are to blame.
The holiday bones wave.
It’s time to dig’m a grave.
The neighbor too IF he’s the same.
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