living still

pressed into the moss,
I am living, living still
breathing water green and stagnant--
a repair for what I've lost.

there are plenty enough holes
for the picture of this scene
to invade my very core,
climb inside and push away
all the things that once bought moments
in exchange for nothing less
than a moment ever after,
set as prop against the dream

but I am living, living still
decomposing by half-measures
as obscene amounts of nature
take the best of me away

--
Prompt was a lovely picture of moss and waterfalls. I then made it creepy, as I'm apt to do.

inventory

I removed my heart from my chest,
finding preference instead
for a knapsack
that I like to forget in the hall

freed of such baggage
as bought by the need to live,
my evening walks are far more relaxing


though it's the very devil
to clean the blood
from underneath my nails.



--
I dunno; don't ask me.

imitation

messy, impatient
excuse for gift wrap--
a poor imitation
of festive spirit,
this form wrapped up
in ribbons of skin.



--
I don't even know. Apparently I'm morbid today.

saturate

pain
to the point no more can be absorbed;
each squeeze once
drew water in a silent torrent

compressed now
without the room to grow
these few precious droplets remain:
barren, beaten ache

but released,
there would be room for fresh sorrow;

perhaps it's better
if you don't let go.



--
Title is prompt. Seeing as I've never been in an abusive relationship, I seem to write about them a lot.

flag

pounding breath, painful
is all that truly remains of you--
these photographs and poems only serve to
make a pretty border around your life
which warps the truth of things

I don't speak, don't breathe, at the service
for if I do, I find myself panting,
overcome with the memory of running until my muscles burned
and my bare feet felt close to breaking
knowing you were faster, legs longer
but the only thing you'd left me
was to try

and in the end, it was all I needed;
legs longer, limbs stronger
only made you fall that much harder
one misstep that cost your life
and with a ragged breath
returned mine.

--
Title is prompt. This went a kind of creepy direction I hadn't exactly intended. Maybe my NaPoWriMo this year will follow that same path. If so, that's fine; I like creepy. :)

ease

an endless sky of yellow-white
takes breaths below the sea,
for as the ship finds bottom rest
I scale another tree.

I see the shore like heron perched
upon the earth's long legs
the waves like drowning men that lurch
their corpses from the dregs

across the water carried, still
until they reach the sand--
an army mortal man can't kill
is left to my command.

a scattered field of bone bleached white
spits glory from its shine;
I reach one hand out, clench it tight,
and call the wreckage mine.

--
Title and the weird picture in my head are prompt.

hang

iron fence, open gate
seems enough barrier to suggest
something special is kept within,
but whether that be the bones--
dug up by roots, dangling
precariously in the ground--
or the tree itself
has yet to be decided

for the years seem to take these bodies
(certainly the souls)
and smooth their names from stone,
while all that centuries give to this tree
is more time to grow.

as the sun sets and shows
just how dramatic a shade it can cast,
I am left to wonder
if the years will find this gate still open,
or show nothing
as metal is warped and wound by fleshy trunk,
swallowed
just as all the starry nights
these branches have seen;
all the clouds this crown has cupped.

--
Prompt is title in that it inspired one image, and helped me found the picture which this actually ended up being about.

drive

four times the hour fell past her
as she crouched behind the counter
regarding the stain on the tile,
no longer spreading.

as each chime hit she blinked
once
but never found the clarity she'd shattered
with one desperate blow.

it was the fifth hour,
as the dawn crept slowly across the back lawn
like a barefoot child with no concept
of what she'd done,

she released what she held clenched in her hand,
heard it clatter,
and soothed the grooves she'd worn in her palm
by picking up the phone.

--
Title and this picture are prompt.

grave

arranged in a loose spiral,
the woodland creeps across the stone--
slow steps of century allow roots
to break words, to make carvings
of their own in the vestiges of life

ethereal things,
carried by the wind like spirits
knowing their place in fog,
as seeds peel back the green
and steal the grey,

and each fall leaves more gentle rot
on the encroaching forest floor,
patterns drawn in wind and time
across the fading courtyard,
paths which no longer know human steps
to disturb the ground
with remembrance.

--
Title is prompt.

start

festering slowly away,
creeping just beneath
the stretched restraints of your skin

and no matter the antiseptic prayers you spread
in layers beneath
this clean white cloth,
it has already reached the blood.


blessed infection streaks fire through your veins
as you claw to let it free,
and the animal seeks to rise up inside,
to capture your spirit
and wear it as armor
to keep you from killing it
and yourself

but perhaps it mistakes the level
of your want to live,
for the water has always been
nipping at your chin
and it would be only too easy
to simply slip in.

all that would be needed is a weight
about the shape and size
of the plague that changes
the glint of your eyes
to a steady, flaming
red.

--
Title is prompt, along with this random wiki article, specifically the second to last sentence of the film summary.