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13 votes
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Nutty Putty: ‘I really, really want to get out’
17 votes -
boats. (or, Kintsugi Bitch.)
I was a kintsugi bitch A dull, forgotten, broken pot And then you fixed me up . You lined me with your own dweomercrafted brand of gold Lac, Mel, et Saccharum . And when you’d starve me for...
I was a kintsugi bitch
A dull, forgotten, broken pot
And then you fixed me up
.
You lined me with your own
dweomercrafted brand of gold
Lac, Mel, et Saccharum
.
And when you’d starve me for attention,
Fed me more from your breast
Til you filled me up
.
And then I’d look you in the eyes
Sugar broiling in the stomach
Am I pretty now
..
Lost, full, and quite ignored
When you had leapt onto the floor
And said we’ve got to go
.
I grabbed your hand and followed blind
My stomach churned I lagged behind
You were the love I know
.
You said we’re going to the sea
My dear you’ll spend a life with me
We’ll make the waves a home
.
And I smiled ear to ear
Cheeks were blushing like a deer
Am I pretty now
..
And then we made it to the bay
quickly climbed into a boat
They never have to know
.
We headed south for centuries
They cannot take the memories
I never hunger now
.
And after weeks of solitude
A stranger came into the view
There was another boat
.
My stomach burned, concerned,
Not a soul had stood astern
You produced a rope
..
You gave a gentle kiss
And slid the twine across my wrists
And tied them into knots
Dipped my legs into the water
Either hand tied either helm
Stretched into a cross
I looked up at you in fear
Just to see you’ve disappeared
I started crying out.
My stomach burned under the water
And the sun was getting hotter
And I’m all alone.
I pleased come to feed me
Don’t leave me weak, depleting
I got no response.
The fish were getting curious
Flies buzzed something furious
They knew what I did not
That if you leave out milk and honey
In the heat, in weather sunny,
It’ll start to rot.
.
Months had passed in sickly motion
Head leaned back, my eyes were open
I died long ago.
The bugs ate at my open mouth
My skin was yellow, wrought with drought
My throat housed a mold
The waters smelled of sulfate
As the serpents ate my stomach ache
My blood has washed away
The rope gave up on hope and
Threw my purple, molten corpse into the ocean
Am I pretty now?
.
.
.
5 votes -
metaphysical sigh.
one day i will die one day so will you. the pictures on the wall will end up in the trash or old and tattered in an attic. our greatest of great-grandkids won't know our faces or how deeply we...
one day
i will die
one day
so will you.
the pictures on the wall
will end up in the trash
or old and tattered
in an attic.
our greatest of great-grandkids
won't know our faces or
how deeply we were saddened
to never see them grow
to never learn the world they know
to never speak their modern language
or watch the trees around them
grow.
for we'll be dead in the ground
and we'll never hear a sound
for what comes next ain't only silence
it ain't blood and it ain't violence
it just
ain't.
so for now we're killing time perhaps
we'll get laid or
learn to paint.
but in the end, it all goes out
into the trash
into the dust
and rest assured
into the ground.
.
if you choose to abuse me
i'd rather hear threats for ever than
hear no sound.
because if you're still here to hurt me
i can say that someone
stuck around.
.
.
.
before i'm buried in the ground.
9 votes