Hemorrhage of an Innocent Yet Deadly Skeleton's Smock



I once believed that fullness felt like this-
       the trick that lay in my skin’s thick nature.
But I’d quickly learnt that the foul truth’s hiss
       hid deeper than any dermis could measure.

                                           For wasn’t it strange?
                                           Those sins we found seceded?
                             Trapped in our skeletal range.
                             Those mischiefs we all but heeded.
                                                          
                                                                    WE BLEEDED-

                                            Bleeded it dry.
                             Forming skintight loathsome alibies.
                                  But what of our demise?
                        Nothing we couldn’t regrow from our lies.

A hemorrhage deep to those foul blusterous trenches-
our webbings caught us tied.
Such ignorance as suffocation drenches
our minds that willingly would abide.

A Baby in the Care of Mrs. Dextrose Louise

By: Kosative D.

Here concealed lay Mrs. Dextrose Louise.
Cradling a casket in the afternoon breeze.
Her perfume was fragrant, the waft but a tease.
Such was the flagrant abrupt swarm of bees!

She ran with her baby, to escape such disaster.
The cradle but creaking as the poor dear ran faster.
Faster than a blazing corpse but burns bright!
The infant weeping from the terrible fright.

My oh my, Mrs. Louise could quick run.
Trafficking these bees in the flaming hot sun.
Bursting but faster than her pocket kept gun.
The baby but quaking in the carriage, they’d flung!

                            STUNG!

The stinging presided.
As the mother burst tears for her infant misguided.



Running, attacked by the hundreds of bees.
Weeping and coughing as she fell to her knees.
The baby was squawking like a group of burnt geese.
The cradle still rolling, with the mother deceased.

Yet strangely enough, the baby did live.
No malice to the infant, not a sting they did give!
The baby was found by an elderly witch.
And she grew to be happy, well taught and rich.

Hammers of a Gluttonous World





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​By: Kosative D.

The hammers but pound
              pound on me deep.
Oh hectic the sounds,
              they put me to sleep.

They whistle in waves
              slapping my chest.
Twice to the grave,
              to that lonesome rest.

Yet how many times
              can a skeleton bare--
The gluttonous heaves
              from the world out there?

For this is the question,
              what matters most?
A fractured expression
              or a sledgehammer ghost?

And isn’t it most exciting
              these poundings!
While in the dim lighting
              you’ll find all of us drowning.

Drowning in the seas
              of what we thought best.
Our fatal disease
              we kept locked in our chest.

Love, my darling,
              ‘tis a heart hammer choke.
It does nothing but anchor
              what is trying to float.

Convergence Carnival

By: Kosative D.

T’was solid, light did spew!
A carnival lined meeting.
The gracious twins paid due
while the trumpets hearts were beating.

They ran, they ran they frolicked so,
the wards! could not contain them.
The fun was brung and young, yet oh
the night would veil what stained them.

Trickles left, trickles right,
above a tent in play.
The rain falls hard, the twins will fight--
transcendence to the day.

Shards and shards they gleam!
Porcelain line the tips.
A smile but a scheme--
the blood, the blood, it drips.

And through the night they'd found it,
that saneness once they'd owned.
For all along it'd fit
between the one girl’s bone.

Gleed of a Summit’s Resurgence

By: Kosative D.
 

Hot breathe in between a stone!
Rot and death as the embers moan.

Tweeze an extreme relinquishing debt--
off of the cliff to only forget.

Make the flames turn purple red--
Lift the life to reveal the dead.

                                    I bled.

                       My insides out.

Accordance of toxins; my tongue to spout.
Absurd inspiration with a hint of doubt.

Pass me a place mat!
I’ll eat my soup.
Scorching the gleed vat
in the flames hot hoop.

Hook it, hook it!
The summits suffice!
Never hard to cook it
with embers like ice.

Renovate the resurgence;
Activate the grave.
For time will recompense
what the fires will save.

By: Kosative D.

Flowered the vines quick travel the walls--
Misery twines each wreathe.
Powered the lines slick gentle falls--
Tapestry taints the sheath .
 
Nothing new!
Each weed’d pursue.
A tantalizing malice.

Temporal few--
The wind doth blew
Its heave to weave its balance.

Shameful some might pose a threat;
its gentleness to scorn.
Sainful, some might douse a bet,
a vividness self worn!