Blood and Bonemeal
Waterlogging, turning to mud Flooding the crypt full of vermin Total collapse, turned to a grave I watch from the outside, seething Stomping it down, pissing on it I hope they choke on the backfill The parasites lay their eggs in your eyes Before you even die Flooding ratholes I see their ghosts personified In the form of glowing lights Following me early at dawn As I walk through the fields barefoot Under my tongue and biting my neck The scent of mold and rat fur Nauseating pungent presence A remnant of obstinate rank I must flood these poltergeists from my presence Drowning myself in the toilet To wash the ghosts from my mind I wrote this in shit on the wall To explain what people find
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 14, 2026
The intestines of the worms pulsate with life Churning once vibrant fibers that turned to rot The sun turns to grey (blood and bonemeal) Soaking into clay (blood and bonemeal) Bound to roots and soil (blood and bonemeal) Only elements are loyal (blood and bonemeal) The clouds that bring the rain drowning the dirt Syphoning recycled scum in a cycle Reeking - rank with resin The smell stays in my nose, the musk within my clothes Fleeting, I had a vision The green of rot and death The green of fresh new growth
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 14, 2026
Wilting on the ground The leaves that grew from mud Compost in the autumn night Caked in dirt and mud Once a tiny seed The size of a spider's eye Tumbling to a crack in the ground Now it towers high Sticky in its growth Like beads of amber sweat A bright light from the east Every morning to pay its debt The fumes of the funguses Creeping where it's moist The insects in the nighttime Making noises with one voice Making use of corpses Animals that I buried fresh this spring The roadkill, an investmеnt, an offering that I bring Harvests by the moon Plumbing thе depths of the mulch womb
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 14, 2026
As the humidity Breaks open wide And spreads the night sky To release its tide In all its great expanses It looks to me The smell within my nostrils Has traveled the seas It flushes the worms forward They squirm for me In a dance, writhing, shiny The mud makes my tea I cup it in my hands And gorge it down I can taste the souls I've buried Here on the grounds As I drink it down I notice a bitter memory I thought it composted, it found me evеntually While I wait for it to turn my soul to ugly stew, I'll think of you Of you Of you
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 14, 2026
It smells like a wet dog Or is that just my breath? My beard, it smells of blood My gas is reeking death Clothes are stained with mud Eyes are bloodshot red I know it's nothing good To be an animal in my head In my head In, in my head I see a beast Eating its own brains We're the same The shadow that it casts is my frame We're the same A swamp of swirling fumes That turns within my stomach Like the halls to open rooms The fluids flood and rummage My organs are like tombs Into which you'll plummet The limbs you'll have to lose So I can eat within my budget Disassеmbly Delicacy The smell of mеat Pickle the feet A rotted pile of vegetative mush drips down a shelf lined with jars Packed to the lids with meats of indeterminate origin They say That I've changed Well, that's the point Of my ways They say That I've changed Well, if true Who's to blame?
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 14, 2026
To the back of the trees that border the perimeter of the property It shines a light and searches far and wide I’m convinced that it only looks for me In my mind I’m never really alone I’ve got a voice and a set of eyes scanning between the lines It maps and measures zones I see the marks, machines landing The orbs, undeniable, in the night, taking flight Covered in gloom, discreet black I must admit it to myself, I thought that I was in control The rattling of things on shelves… Perfectly punctured lawn with holes… The orbs - undeniable, the source inside is milked
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 14, 2026
By the light of screens that flicker very bright Pulsating and pale, packed in way too tight A jar I’ve filled with larvae keeps me company at night I try to talk to them but I never get it right Chatter in my dreams about their little lives And talk about the queen within their sacred hive I wish that I could make one grow into my weight and height I’d let it come out of the jar, take it for my wife I fatten them with roadkill until succulent for my feast No communication is the problem as I see A lack of lingual tact, I’ve failed to take the lead
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 14, 2026