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.
there twasn't lights breaking
embarrassment
no, there is illusions of daybreak
i sieve knowing seas, lasting songs
columned bridges dangling low
on lustless ships
deserting grips
guilty spectacles, hived
crustaceous criminals
devouring sadness
bells fasting to rebuild glowing hours casting
italian imperialists
hunting burning forests with wine
liberated toddlers taunting grandfathers
inside of ticking guillotines
burning pouches of mothers milk
We built it with soft hands,
stacked comfort upon convenience,
turned our backs to the gears turning in the dark.
Fed by silver screens and full stomachs,
we let the fire flicker,
too drunk on the warmth to notice the smoke.
They whispered,
“Don’t worry.”
And we believed them.
We traded vigilance for spectacle,
truth for something easier to swallow.
The cracks in the foundation widened,
but we called them character,
part of the charm of an aging empire.
When the first stones fell,
we laughed.
When the pillars trembled,
we turned up the music.
By the time we saw the beast,
it had already made a home in our halls.
And now, even the quiet places are waking up.
The ground hums with something unscripted,
a pulse beneath the broken roads,
a breath held too long.
Fists clench beneath dinner tables.
Voices sharpen in the night.
The forgotten, the overlooked, the ones who never raised their hands—
they are standing now.
The tide that carried us into sleep
has begun to pull back.
And in the silence left behind,
the storm begins to speak.
• My body is hers
• But my soul is not
• My body is still resting
• But my soul is beginning to rot
keep on hurting me and keep on cutting me, make my blood flow like the greatest river, this eternal heart has never seen past winter, for i have embodied all the disease within me, i am the rot, soot, and grain that flows fiercely on the ground, the vermin and pigs feast upon me until nothing here is found
may the rats find nourishment in this heart that you have not, may they love the breath i take as i gently tie this knot, may the flies find salvation in the bones within my body, and may the maggots find peace in a brain that once loved somebody
even if you won't love me there's plenty of things that will, because ill find my peace 6 below where everything is still, the frost chills and grows up my body once more, i guess its time to turn the key and lock away my door
the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree
so the rot in the apple must stem from the bark
the roots that creep and drain of life
keeps us sour; unable to mend
you ruined me and i ruined you.
i hate you and i love you.
i don’t know what to do.
what can i do?
i can’t leave you
you’ll always be a part of me
your roots digging in to my very core
and i don’t want you to let me go
but you’re so horrible—
yet so kind
every word you spit tastes like poison
but your touch is so intimately, unbearably, soft
i want to run away
i want to run into your arms again
i want you to beg me to stay
i want you to set me free
the apple is rotten, and what rots it is the tree
but how can i blame you?
even the oldest trees were
once only apple seeds
how can i blame you,
when you were once me?
how can i blame an rotten apple
for growing into a rotten tree?
you rot me, because it’s all you know
you’ve been rotten from the inside out
and now you rot me too
and i hate you
i love you
i pity you
it’s all the same
in the end, i will grow into a rotten tree too
“I hope you rot,” you said to me.
Well, now you see, you’ve won;
My bones have all but turned to rust,
And time slowly withers away at my skin.
The weeds and bugs pour from every crevice;
Bees buzz around my face
To drink from the flowers born out of my eye.
Slowly, I surrender myself to the earth—
So I can rot, just like you said.
Fragile rocks diminish from the soul
A heart made out of gold
Is just a heart made out of stone
You'll melt or you'll wither
What's felt is a sliver
But that sliver can feel colossal
Before and behind me's my ghost
Reflections and shadows
Will forever follow
I'm my one possession
The rest is obsession
The sun burns through endless black holes
Eclipsed by a thought
And twist in a knot
We are endlessly savoured to rot
"Maga agenda 25" is a misnomer
and yet it is repeated ad nauseum,
but as Kamala Harris once said
"Young people ... are stupid."
Missing context or not
political campaigns are fraught
with snippets that don't mean squat,
but cause significant thought rot!
I no longer know where to find me
I wish you didn't leave me here to rot
No matter how much rubble I force myself to pull up
It has sunken too deep, shattered too fine
The shards you once called my heart
Put me up in a museum, call it fine art
Modern day galleries, full of nonsensical ideologies
Kind of ironic your favorite field was anthropologies
All you had to say was you couldn't help me
There's so much fine detail within you I'd love to abirritate
Today is a day of loss, every moment a minute to commemorate
I take the people closest to me to those spots we only knew
The memories I create with them will never surpass the ones with you
But day by day it's like my mind flips in estrange
Moments I shared with you are plastered with their interchange
Sertraline, Fluoxetine, Fluvoxamine
Shame it never compared to your dopamine
Never had to worry about your bioavailability
The only cause for concern was how much I craved it from you
I wish you never left me here to rot
Please, I'm begging come to my door and don't stop braying
Awaken me from my nightmares, you don't realize how quick I'm decaying
Anubis, his decision, who has admission
mummification array, slows rot and decay
I pick your apples with a gentleness uncharacteristic of my kind.
I eat them with a fervor that may only come from me.
You are my garden of Eden and I gladly take any fruit the snake may provide me
Because having a piece of you, however unlasting, is better than having none.
Because I hold onto you like a farmer holding his last crop.
And I feast. I allow myself to consume.
If you have the ability to go, then god knows I have the ability to devour.
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