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Array
(
[sid] => 92778
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Plague Sores (Revised)
[time] => 2005-04-29 23:10:48
[hometext] => * Dark doesn't really describe this poem well enough, but its the only topic that fits. I first posted this poem about 3 years ago it has been revised and renamed and has a new ending :). This is NOT for the faint of heart. *
[bodytext] => Skeletons lie in the streets Broken, bones tangled together Thrown against the battered buildings Mouths formed in a silent, forever scream Its an overcast day, like always Acid rain lazily falls sizzling On the battered ground A solitary figure Walks amongst this hell He's used to it all Even though silent tears trickle down They are tears of hunger There's an aching pang In his belly that cannot be quenched You can see every bone Across his stretched, green flesh Eyes peer out from a hollow head Wide, with hunger frightening to behold As he crawls down the sidewalk Crunching bones with his bony knees And I? I am a prisoner In this gutted shell of a city Locked in isolation Tied to a steel bed Only, my hands free Screaming like a maniac Scratching at my head Blood runs into my eyes As I lick my hands clean Blood my only food Blood my only beverage Sick as I puke all over myself Like a handicapped child The guards they eye me With a wicked gleam I cower if I see, hear or Even think of them They are casting lots For the choicest parts Of my deformed body Then they will rip me to shreds The solitary figure has found a meal A smile across his weathered features As he gnaws at the raw, moldy flesh Once a fellow human's arm He eats the magotty flesh With relish, attacking it like a steak He fights off the pitiful few survivors For the choicest parts They all look the same blackened and destroyed By the plague that visited them Cursed to survive even thought they weep for death Across the dying city Other acts of cannibalism and debauchery Take place Soon... nothing will be left Except the crumbling facades Of buildings, bones picked bare The wind whistling across the empty streets And the few cursed survivors Scratching at their painful sores In my confinement Free from the restricting chains Huddled in a corner Howling like some demented animal Eyes sunken, bloodshot and weary Skin a pasty white and dry Congealed blood in my matted hair Toenails like claws Tattered clothes in shreds Hanging from my tense body Face in my hands Unable to look at my surroundings Driven to madness The plague will consume me If the "guards" in my head don't first I can hear the guards laughing Bashing my head against the wall I see the blood, but they won't get me They won't, they won't, they won't, they didn't... [comments] => 5 [counter] => 154 [topic] => 13 [informant] => bobotheclown [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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