From Maggot to Fly

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The cigarette bud is crushed

Into the creases

Of rotten Would.

 

I can see my face

Resembled in the ash

And know we are

One and the same.

 

Though I more closely

Imitate the insect.

Rummaging through cadavers,

Squirming boils burst

at their own

 volition

 

Dug deep into the earth

To taste the red hot

Of my species

 

Under so much weight,

I begin the great ascent

Knowing it’s likely

I’ll never see

The green surface.

 

It’d be easier to accept death,

But what’s the point

Of a bug like that.

Writhing in Tepid Streams

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Hell bound Hounds

We’ve found

we’ve drowned

Could the sea

Wash more away

Than sin?

More than body and soul?

So unassuming,

So indifferent.

Maybe the secret to the pursuit,

Is in the changing tide

Unsure of what’s to be.

Sacrificed for this brittle end,

But with laces tied

And eyes covered

I walk.

How is good?

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Como es Bueno?
How is beautiful?

It is unique

It is countless endings

Never ending

Until it ends

I know what I’m writing

Is shit.

It is unworthy of a quick

Read through

And the point is lost

Even on me.

Maybe if my mind

Consisted of blue jays

Swift flight to infinite window pane

Hurtling towards death

I can pick up my broken beaked demons

Nurture and love it

Better than

I do myself.

My Quiet Friend

*Trigger* This poem deals with the subject of suicide.

 

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I saw her years ago

She smiled in a quiet room

She was soft

Her body was warm

 As white as the sheets on the walls

a room without a window

for sometime

She’s patched

Like she’s spent a lifetime

Pulling her hair out

She says she’s done more than

taste death,

that it emanates from

her very being.

Death has become a part

of who she is

The circles around her eyes

Like she’s spent too much time

In the dark

The bright bands on her slit wrists

Like the neon signs in Vegas streets.