Bad Freeverse Poetry

tw: abuse, violence, derealization, su/cide, ickiness

Dust

I am dust
I am decay
Do you hear the song of May flowers?
Put your ear to the dirt
Hear the whispers of the city
A song of our scars
Never should've listened, never should've listened

Violent Hands

Flinches at the touch
Something is wrong
My hand, like flint on steel
Ignites her sadness

Dog Food For Dinner

These mismatched walls, a prison
Decorations abound, but how does one
Decorate hell into heaven?
Rotting tooth
Rotting body
Dog food for dinner
Slops out of a can
Flick the bugs off the bowl
The world forgot
Me

You Said It Was An Option. It Was Not.

Tell me to die
Once again
Better the blood on my hands
Than yours
Better my agony
Than your discomfort
You wanted a suicide
What you got
Was a flower in bloom