I'm dying inside

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The death tarot card.

Submitted: January 16, 2013

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Submitted: January 16, 2013

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A A A


I feel fucking sick

Like a draft let loose

And unable to find 

Which door to close,

Or maybe the key

 

Fucking prick.

He dug a little nest

inside my body

and implanted roots

Before I chopped off each limb

and digested it

 

Every teddy and cute decoration

Sugarcoated far too sweet

Making my teeth rot

And every observation

of one hand cleaning another's lip

or sound of walls and banging hips

makes me want to

Rip all the roots out 

through the sprouting follicles

of hair on my head.

I wish he was dead

inside me.

Then I could shit him out and pull the flush

 

I might burn each fragment

of tape rolling on my

subconscious

Getting stuck over the same

image as I sleep

and reap new memories from unfertile grounds

 

I just want to pull myself inside out

And lay myself bare

Like left over meat

Waiting for the crows teeth to tear

And flies to mingle

Over blackened canals 

leading to my heart.

 

He's spread to each limb

to the point I find myself crying

over things that didn't even make sense

back then.

 

Back then.

A constant replay of missing parts

and lack of sound -

or even cheery music

to fill the background

yet still looking silly

A comedy from afar.

 

And fresh wind filling my desperate lungs

from the door left ajar.

 

 


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