Rotten Meat.
There’s no feeling like feeling like rotten meat,
That every part of your body is rotting away,
No matter how many times you fix it, it just keeps rotting,
But no one can see it.
My mind is rotten, covered in mold,
The mold covers my right eye,
Fogging my vision of things that could have been,
Leaves me with the buzzing of flies in my head.
My bed has become like a coffin,
A forever resting place,
To live with the decay that surrounds me,
I shroud myself in total musty darkness.
I dream of my right eye falling out,
It getting up and walking away from me,
It would be salvation from an existence of rot,
I would no longer be rotten meat.
Well what can i put.? I saw piers morgan
Interview him.? And well he.? Made morgan look good.! I saw a great empathy
For the pepple around, even morgan.'
He now.. Jhonny broke new ground.' He put Piers at ease, there was noticable wisdom
And anecdotes, he had me smiling, from a
Subtle joke.' All respect to man who called
Saville a word.' Ammounts to pred-o-vile
Search the net, for this intervew, it will be worth your while.)
The children snuggled and
tucked themselves into bed
as Nanny Agatha crept into
the dark room.
She wore a sharp, wicked grin
as she pulled a wooden bowl
from her apron.
Inside sat bruised, oozing
apples, completely covered
in fuzzy green mold and decay.
"Time for your bedtime treat,"
she hissed, her voice sounding
like dry, scraping autumn leaves.
She held a sour, rotten slice toward
little Tommy as she began her eerie
tale.
Her story was about a wicked witch
who trapped children inside deep,
black wells.
The brothers stared at the bitter, slimy
fruit, their hearts racing with glowing
dread.
"Watch every bite," Nanny whispered,
her shadow stretching long across their
shaking shoulders.
The bedroom windows rattled violently
as the foul stench of the fruit filled the
air.
She blew out the candle, leaving
them trapped in the dark with her
endless, unsettling story.
I’m slowly rotting.
My body is decaying.
I’m supposed to be. . .
I want to be.
Dead
I can't take the pain anymore.
I hear subtle voices
They talk to me
I find some kind of comfort in them?
People call me
crazy
Broken
Wrong
Pathetic
And the worst one
Monster. . .
Every time I hear it
The voices get louder
I black out
When I wake up
there's blood on my hands.
Again. . .
I stare at the blood.
Then the gun
Back to the blood.
Back to the gun.
Blood.
Gun.
I grab the gun
I hold it under my chin
My hand tremble
Tears fall
The voices yell
“Bang”
Everything is gone
The voices go quit
The pain is gone
My body is now is finally
“Decomposing”
Or as the people will whisper
“The monster is now rotting away”
The slithering winds passed through my ears,
While hounds of cars and bikes were passing by,
Like a pilgrimage of sheep, heading towards somewhere,
There was smoke and dust in the air,
Intoxicating me into its thin layers,
For a moment, I was alone. I can smell the rotten buildings
Which they call heritage,
A dome stood in front of me, it was almost fifty feet high,
It was on the corner of a building, built like a Colosseum,
Showing symmetry on its rounded side, the windows were many,
Yet I suffocated seeing it,
The tall, pale columns of Corinth and Ionia,
I was petrified, I don’t know why.
The grey atmosphere seemed terrible for humans.
Trees black, sky grey, so the tall buildings were,
Suddenly, I was in the traffic, water gushing from a street tap,
There were horns blowing all around,
Soon I reached the bridge and it was infested by Devnagari,
The yellow Ganges flows beneath it,
ships were busy, so everyone was,
It was not the first time leaving the city,
But it felt so.
I paid the driver upon reaching the station, and stopped thinking much.
The Bird Water Whistle
Rendition # twenty one
------------------------------------
he don't think people like him
by; Ya'll and Them
__________________________________
She say slurp
I say slurp
we say slurp
then we sing slurp, slurp
slurp
slurp
slurp
slurp
slurp
slurp
slurp, slurp!
slurp!
Slurp!
Slurp!
Slurp
Slurp, slurp
Slurp!
(applaued, Bravo, Bravo!)
The man in the elevator farted,
The smell was like a rotten salmon fish,
He mocked everyone as the gas parted,
Since provoking our anger was his wish.
Alas, he stained his white pants with his mess,
He couldn't leave the smelly elevator,
Yet he needed a toilet to access,
He begged a shirt from a nearby waiter.
He refused because of his bad manners,
A woman gave him four menstrual pads,
That he used as a protective banner—
Like young children, he turned it to a fad.
Another kind woman gave him a skirt,
Had we not known, he would have claimed Scottish,
Still the skirt was stained with a little squirt,
We wish his foul manners he'll abolish.
Pardon me for saying so
that puts us in a precarious position
~ seems we're out of options
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Don’t you dare try to sit in my spot!
I’ll decide if you pet me or not.
I’m the star here, you’ll see.
They all cater to me.
They just like you; they LOVE me a lot.
Sir Isaac Newton, so great,
Had the apple been rotten and late,
No physics would have been discovered yet,
No derivations would have ever been set.
See here? - you do see a little rot.
But over there? - definitely not.
So, whoever said you were totally rotten,
doubtlessly, has brains of cotton -
cuz totally rotten? - you’re certainly not.
I can count how many times something like monster
or dragon whispers a rumour about the moon
or folly or rotten tomato-
but, should that murmur or scene live or stay or grow
in the mind, wide and strange.
I meant before evening or before the world or dawn?-
What if the world can be black and white, like sometimes
like sometimes shadow, like sometimes rainbow?,
A plague?, a strike? or a damnation?,
Ah!, sometimes love a requim, a pit, a fall, a black hole,
or whichever case never become silvery but an elegiac
weep?.
I can count how many times something like monster
or dragon whispers a rumour about the moon
or folly or rotten tomato-
but, should that murmur or scene live or stay or grow
in the mind, wide and strange.
I meant before evening or before the world or dawn?-
What if the world can be black and white, like sometimes
like sometimes shadow, like sometimes rainbow?,
A plague?, a strike? or a damnation?,
Ah!, sometimes love a requim, a pit, a fall, a black hole,
or whichever case never become silvery but an elegiac
weep?.
I'm done
with all your
dirty rotten lies
thanks
for the loan
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