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Doomy Da Carrot

A Little Dimension of Onyx Fog

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I fancy myself a half-decent poet, though lately I haven't written a ton due to happiness when my usual muse is pain. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

Let us begin with three, as three is a magical number after all. c;


Something Old:



The long grass bristles

Chuckling as the breeze

Tickles over it

The old, old tree

Is a sentry

Watching over the long grass

Watching the old dirt road

Watching the dilapidated house

This house is a broken home

And she sits all alone

The girl sits all alone

In the broken home

With the door open

Staring at the drive

At the place where he

Left her

So alone

At the rusty old pickup truck

(Hers) that ran so loud

Thunk kathunk thump

Chipped blue paint peeling in the weather

Here she is not alone

There's someone else here

To break this already broken girl


The grass whispers

Murder, murder

The old silent tree a sentry

For a sinner

But the sinner's long gone, long gone

The girl's blood dissolves so slowly

Into the ground

And the tree's long

Willow branches

Comfort the soil

Comfort the grass

Comfort the solitary black rose

That grows, thornless,

From the broken grave of a pale broken girl

And the grass whispers

Murder, murder



Something New:

October 16, 2012

Ink running down her parchment flesh, blending into the permanence of her colors. The hues affected by the anger that the wind blows upon her. Papercuts leaving bloodstains against her edges as tiny tears leave holes gaping to her within. Tears streak, blotting the lines scrawled above her cheekbones. Labels they have drawn upon her parchment, inscribed within her flesh. Silver tears carrying away drops of ink, of darkened color. Silver healing hurt. Sometimes contemplating a match, she blows away in the wind, losing her way. Losing her place. Caught in the branches somewhere along the way, catching and tearing. Inescapable pull of wind, a wish for a match. Ink scrawled along her stomach, thighs, throat; rips and ugly ugly ugly. Ink rolling down rips. Eyes open void, consuming and revealing. Illuminating their words along her parchment. Ugly ugly not-good-enough stupid kill-yourself ugly fat boring die die diediediediediediediediedieDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE. Inscribed, she believed in them. With a match, she burned them away as she burned away her parchment. Burned away to ashes and the silver wind carried her home.


And Something Else:

November 7, 2011

The birds on the wires,

Big black notes

A symphony falling by her eyes

Like pretty little stars


Tensions growing higher,

Heated summers in a coat

All these worries that consume

Put on a rocketship to Mars


Secret little wishes,

From her skull they've fled

Hiding in the junkyards

Locked away in cars


Apathy and hatred

Threaten to take flight

Stories of control lost

Written in her scars




Thank you for your time and consideration.

Edited by Doomy Da Carrot

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