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Literature Text
I cannot remember the last time I cried,
flooded and broken my eyes turn inside.
Still there's no beat, lifeless breathing aside;
the last breath of me has finally died.
A nameless face now ruptures my thoughts,
a memory of which I found I have not.
Claiming my love, in his arms I am caught;
a feeling of hunger embedded, grows hot.
He screams a name without any soul.
I sense the place; once a heart, now a hole.
He falls to the ground, death taking its toll;
struggling to stand, his hands reach their goal.
Clutching my face, he pulls me close,
my mouth inches forward, grotesque and morose.
My eyes staring hungrily, he smiles in hope;
his love has now proven stronger than most.
Retrieving a memory, with nothing to say,
I've now grown confused, and push him away.
He clings to my body, his back merged with clay;
forced towards a wall, he stares with dismay.
A name is remembered through hunger and pain,
water creeps to my eyes, still dry and blood-stained.
A memory of love and romance when still sane;
I stare at Chris weeping, tears falling like rain.
As I struggle to speak, my Love only stares.
Sadness comes quickly as death poisons the air,
still I find strength of which I am rare;
"Kill me," I whisper, to a love twas once there.
Chris weeps for my soul, pulling me forward,
kissing these lips that he is now leaning toward.
Quickly forgotten, memories out-poured;
hunger grows furious, now worse than before.
Taking his knife, a man rips me apart.
He slices my throat and blood spreads as art.
Head falling backwards, the smell of death tart.
This faceless man has broken my heart.
flooded and broken my eyes turn inside.
Still there's no beat, lifeless breathing aside;
the last breath of me has finally died.
A nameless face now ruptures my thoughts,
a memory of which I found I have not.
Claiming my love, in his arms I am caught;
a feeling of hunger embedded, grows hot.
He screams a name without any soul.
I sense the place; once a heart, now a hole.
He falls to the ground, death taking its toll;
struggling to stand, his hands reach their goal.
Clutching my face, he pulls me close,
my mouth inches forward, grotesque and morose.
My eyes staring hungrily, he smiles in hope;
his love has now proven stronger than most.
Retrieving a memory, with nothing to say,
I've now grown confused, and push him away.
He clings to my body, his back merged with clay;
forced towards a wall, he stares with dismay.
A name is remembered through hunger and pain,
water creeps to my eyes, still dry and blood-stained.
A memory of love and romance when still sane;
I stare at Chris weeping, tears falling like rain.
As I struggle to speak, my Love only stares.
Sadness comes quickly as death poisons the air,
still I find strength of which I am rare;
"Kill me," I whisper, to a love twas once there.
Chris weeps for my soul, pulling me forward,
kissing these lips that he is now leaning toward.
Quickly forgotten, memories out-poured;
hunger grows furious, now worse than before.
Taking his knife, a man rips me apart.
He slices my throat and blood spreads as art.
Head falling backwards, the smell of death tart.
This faceless man has broken my heart.
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The Doctor
"Doctor?" I questioned uneasily. The figures and faces around me nodded, shifting around unsettlingly as if staying still was too much work for them
"I don't need a Doctor, I'm fine." I had no desire to see the Doctor. Even the title sent shivers down my spine.
"We know dear, but we were thinking that some people mature faster than others, and that maybe you should see the Doctor earlier," one of the figures said. I couldn't even see them, for I was seated in a hard chair that dug into my back while everyone else was crowed around me. Their like faces and similar statures all began to blur into one solid black surrounding of grey and more g
Literature
Death In Small Doses
You think it feels good
You think it feels nice
To pick up a razor
And give your arm a slice
The first time's o.k.
The second time's great
The third's even better
But the fourth can not wait
You think every thing's fine
So you start taking some chances
You start cutting new places
And begin receiving strange glances
"What could go wrong?"
"Nothing, who cares?"
But you keep getting weaker
And continue getting stares
You're feeling depressed
And you aren't sure why
You weren't when you started
But now you break down and cry
You know something's wrong
But you just can't stop
What started as a few
Has progressed into a lot
Literature
Zombie Story
Run. Eat. Sleep. Life doesn't seem much different from those rotting corpses walking around. How many times can you beat the antithesis of what life used to be into a quivering pile of flesh? In fact, how many times could you stand to hear another human being, a survivor just like you, scream in agonizing pain while they are being eaten alive? I hate to break it to you, Billy. You have to get used to it real fast. After watching bits of skull fragments and brain matter hit the wall so many times it stops having shock value. Put a person under extreme circumstances for so long and they become numb. I sometimes ask myself, what is t
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One of the first poems I was ever pleased with!
Please view and the original preview art, Zombie Romance Image .
This is probably one of my poems I have written mainly because I was able to tell a story successfully. Also, because I have a strange fascination for zombies, I've just never had an urge to share that fascination artistically until this piece.
I am thankful for all inspiration that drove this, from the original contest, to My Chemical Romance's Early Sunsets Over Monroeville.
To tell the tragedy of a woman killed by the love of her life has been my pleasure.
I love critiques on my writing, so please - any assistance is greatly appreciated. Like it or hate it, drop a comment.
*OfOneSoul
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© 2010 - 2024 OfOneSoul
Comments19
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ahh zombies.. <3
this was beautifully written.
this was beautifully written.