The Orchard
There’s crushed apples. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. And there’s blood. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. I wake on the floor amidst the mess. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Sticky, wet, rotting, sugary mess. I push down the terror from the sweet, metallic saliva that holds my mouth closed and try to decide how long I’ve been here. Light beats dull and muted through the dust covered windows in the east. I was starving close to sundown. My hunger, unyielding and predatory. And I could smell it on the air. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. My fingers close on matted hair to the right of me, and I ignore my violent self-loathing. I roll to my side to assess just how much blood has pooled around my victim. I am wasteful when I am mad with hunger, so I know what I will find. Great puddles with chunks of flesh and tissue. Bloody, spoiled apple cores being swallowed slowly by the fruit flies. I yank hard on the hair, dragging the body across the hardwoods. No heat. And the wet mess has coagulated in its deepest pools, while drying into crusty, maroon scabs at the edges. My head pounds with clouded confusion. I press my palms to my eyes and hold my thumbs against my temples. I breathe deep. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. And all the while, that sweet, metallic after-taste staining my teeth, sending my mind careening into the memory of my voracious hunt. Sticky, wet, rotting sugar. And body after body just waiting to be plucked and ravaged. And syrupy chunks of once white, fruit flesh clinging to the mess. And glazed over eyes, once burning with fire. And sticky, wet, rotting sugar.
I AM SOMETHING
Oh no! Don’t tell me I’m nothing -
something lives inside my head,
my black eyes have seen it all.
I leave my calling card on doorsteps,
scattering echoes of wind as proof
that I am a new beginning, waiting
for the fog on the deserted road
to develop wings and begin to fly.
I bare my tainted pen, becoming
something in shadows climbing
over empty spaces, leaving space
for something echoing in soup bowls.
Feed me! Feed my emptiness of soul -
move the migraines in my cloudy vault,
follow footprints into charisma of dawn.
I may mean nothing but I am your world
your empty spot, just waiting to be filled.
feed
they fed off of us
when we were the weakest
they scorched us with their fire
when we were made
just of thin paper
we thought we were strong
but with every blow
they reached our insides
further and further
so instead of fighting
we caved in even more,
they feasted off of us
as if we were the best prey
for a midnight treat
they devoured our strength
our passion consumed,
our faith in happiness
gulped to the last drop
we let ourselves be eaten
because that was the only thing
that could have made us
feel whole again
better, improved
in someone else’s mind
someone else’s heart
we were wrong
when we let them
feed off of us
we just wanted a home
to sink in our roots
instead,
we got
consumed
in our own fears
***
The never-ending feast...
The beast within
way deep inside
my Dr. Jekyll
and Mr. Hyde
on what does
this beast feed
what does it crave
what does it need?
What is the ugly
dark thing I find
in the corners
of my mind
tickling the surface
of my dreams
haunting me
nothing as it seems
the phantom of my nightmares
awake in a cold sweat
heart beating in my ears
no peace can I get.
Is it sickly
and wasting away
absent as the night
when dawns the day?
Or is it obese
from its gluttonous feed
slovenly gorging
on my bottomless need?
GLUTTONY
***
People are greedy, love. You give them a taste of something good, and they devour the thing in seconds—forget making it last! ... One slice of the pie is never enough. It’s seconds and thirds and on and on, and before you know it, the whole thing’s gone! They gorge themselves on it, shovelling sweetness into their mouths until their bellies bulge over their belts and they can barely move. And do you know what happens then? ...
The nausea’s first—then the bile. Then up comes the pie, all mashed up with dinner and soaking in stomach acid. A perfectly good thing, ruined. And all because of greed.
***
This is a short excerpt from a project I have in the works. When I read the prompt for this challenge, I just had to enter it! XD
#prose
#excerpt
A shame a blame a guilt.
On the precarious lines we tread
for the vacuous lives we’ve led
with coins we feed the guilts we labour under.
The sparkly thoughts that magpies scrabble after
and laughters cure for all the anodynes in pills and wines
Our eyes distractions easily caught the weakness of our petty thoughts.
We call the pot the weed the kettle black and so
deeds in furs are measured wrong and there the throng
have right to pelt you with their eggs.
The dregs on pavements spit and in back allies souls are slit like purses.
Silks and leathers empty save for a plastic meal.
But for a thought not fit tip top to steal.
The secret word on broaches close to hearts we carry, none will see.
The tapping on the walled machine.
As useless as the broken shoe on a rainy day.
Dispenser drug machines, we use the wall to pay
there is no need for paper lest you hide the taxable commissions
as expected by the citizen, on so we all agree.
The money in the malls has gone and cashing in means getting on aboard
a train of thought that seems to make a sense in retrospect.
As intellectuals debate the day to day and days like none has ever lived before.
Constellations forming characters with cloud obscuring sanity and vanities.
Humanity has tasted not the sweetness of its poison.
Believing in the gated minds the keepers of a purpose.
Feeders forcing fatness down a spiritual gullet.
In plumpness ripe the prefect pluck to pot
a joint for scalding hair from flesh till baby smooth.
Sense is separated from meat beneath a moving corpse
and androids walk and talk and tell their woes for what is lacking.
Deliveries of parcels spill the diesel into choking atmospheres.
A snaking water canopy the ancient forests stolen trees in chains are hauled
across the mothers skin in mirrors sitting plucking, peeling, preening,
pulling tucking back a year of “adverinfo” product sifting.
The glaring LED saved energy directs a stream of blinding verbs,
and reality is there to be dressed up in just by wanting.
On a line no sign rejects a payment and all notices ignore when checkouts close.
The hours four and twenty never ending ever spending.
Goods, a box of packaging, the choking island swirling in a
sea so far a way form blame. Shamefacedness’s berried
Kopf in sand with arse in air and not a care for seeing not
the micro pearl that strangles sex out of Poseidon.
The poisoning of sea and earth and air, there will be none here.
In a “wordly” thought out world where worries wane
with every swipe the satisfactions therapy has taken
us so far from us and taken something from us all.
(We shame our tragedies with blame
and shame the blame with guilt.
It is time to change.)
splintering glass.
I knew you’ve always lurch wanting someone —
who could glow as a furling flame with a cosy warmth,
dazzle as continuous centennial headlights on your leaden land.
I found it all exasperating,
as I espied a girl who could emit celestial cluster of stars.
All twinkling, all flickering gas and dust —
held up by her gravitational mastery.
Strucking me all these infuriation —
for all that cliche yearning for starlight of yours,
never did you know,
only to look up, blanched shades of you,
and makes your face look so pale.
And only to look at you leaves the crimson flush out of me;
turning livid.
I only wanted you to flash me as matches —
igniting glimpses from your squinting eyes.
Flash me as matches,
then I’ll show you myself glint,
only with a crystal facade —
maybe,
you’ll see me.
Sweet Valentine.
At last, i finally got a chance to be with her for almost an entire day. I had planned to spoil her, not only it being Valentine’s Day, but I wanted to take her out to a nice restaurant in the evening.
When we got there. I made sure to act on my best behavior. That meant guiding her to her seat, and not belching during, or after the meal. Oh, that was going to be a challenge for me.
After waiting for her to order- not only a few starters, then a main course & several desserts- I hoped that she would split the bill 50/50 with me.
Since this was the first time i took her out, i decided to pay for the full meal. Ah, o well. I did tell myself that it’d be all worth it.
My, she looked lovely and I couldn’t wait to take a walk with her in the park after dinner. I asked her if she didn’t mind going on a walk with me. She agreed to take a walk in the park. Woohoo!
We we’re having a great time, until the clouds parted away and the moon shone ev’r bright in the night sky. I crouched down, failing to control the moon’s effect on me. I felt my heartrate began to beat quite rapidly. No!
The last thing I can recall is hearing her voice, screaming my name before I growled and sank my jaws into her neck. Once my canines had pierced her skin, it was too late for her to be saved.
#SweetValentine.
Feeding Her
He loved feeding her. Enjoyed seeing her balloon before his eyes. Knowing she loved eating. Inhaling pizza. Like creating a sculpture. Meatballs went to her thighs. Donuts made her belly hang low. Chocolates made her breast bulge, nipples fat and pliant. Her mouth open. Eyes looking up expedient. Now that she could not walk, she was all his. All of her for him alone.
He loved feeding her.
Live Feed
The feed, the feed. The feed is my life blood. The likes flood in one by one, not fast enough. I post more and more, exposing more of myself than I ever meant to. I just want approval. I want them to love me.
Feed, feed feed. They call my stream of posts a feed. Their likes are my nutrition. Only one follower. Oh no, they hate me. Post more.
My feed gets longer to no avail.
Tick tock my inner clock is winding down. The countdown I’ve set, the goal that needs to be met by 12:00 tonight.
It’s 10:30 PM.
The likes are trickling in, slower than the slug creeping up my garden leaf in fourth grade.
Why are they not liking? Why do they not follow?
I’ve done it all. I’ve posted photos of myself, photos of friends, cute cat memes, and puns. What do I have to do to be noticed. I take the knife and slide it down my wrist. Take a snapshot and post it. Blood I’m bleeding the feeds keep feeding keep scrolling I just want love.
I now have two followers, and I have nothing left to share. All my secrets, out online, there’s nothing left of me that I haven’t told.
My body, nothing left that I have not exposed. I’m skinny. I know I’m skinny. That’s why I stopped eating; to be skinny and pretty. So why don’t they love me?
The likes flow in from the cutting one. That’s interesting. Who’d of thought self harm would be so popular? Then I look at the comments.
You should just kill yourself, loser. Keep cutting, your life doesn’t matter.
There’s also a link to the suicide helpline in another. But-
Why don’t they like me?
I’m skinny, I’m blonde, I poured bleach on my skin till I was starch white. Why am I not enough?
11:55 and I have 13 followers. I’m more than halfway to twenty, but what can I do to gain attention, gain follows?
That’s when it hits me. What do all the Instagram stars do to gain fame?
A live stream. I click the post button, click the live video, and then I press record.
“Hi, guys. My goal is to get twenty followers by midnight. Or else- or else I’ll just die, like some of you have suggested. Maybe that would be better.”
Comments begin to thread in, some of worried people, others egging my death on.
Fourteen followers, 11:58.
“Guys, I need six followers in two minutes,”
Fifteen followers, sixteen, seventeen, and then eighteen.
11:59. I stand up and start setting up a stool. I tie a rope to the fan on my ceiling and tie it around my neck
19. So close, but it’s midnight. It’s time for my life to end.
I kick away the stool. Right before everything fades, my screen sharpens into view.
The last follower came seconds too late.