II . where all the poets went to die

hiya, i’m carrion (or teddy/viscera). i use he/decay/anomaly pronouns and am the host of a plural system. other sysmates may use this blog!

this is a writing blog focused mainly on our poetry, lyric writing, and horror themed original stories.

some writings on this blog will touch on sensitive and triggering subjects. please do not read anything that may be triggering to you.

basic dni.

shut me out

lead me up to the altar

take me down

burn all of the candles

shut me down

lead me away from this place

take me out

no one knew why she looked up to you

blood poured out of well-hidden wounds

it’s been months since the drought first started.

it was slow, building up silently.

each day the rushing of the rivers and how fast the water poured from the spout got slower and slower, so slow we didn’t notice until it was too late.

until there was barely any water flowing through the rivers, until you turned the tap all the way on but only a dribble came out.

it all went to hell after that.

everyone bulk-bought packaged water, juice, pop, everything, so much so every store on the earth ran out.

unbelievable, right?

even the oceans and lakes dried up, leaving the poor with nothing. the only water we could find was from the skies.

summer was the worst.

everyone deathly hot, with barely no way to hydrate, everyone had been on the brink of death, living only by the plant dew.

it’s starting to turn to fall now, and get a bit more cooler, thankfully.

but something odd happened today.

my sister tried to turn the tap water on again, and something came out. it wasn’t water though, it was thicker, and red.

there’s beauty in the darkness, you know.

the quiet chittering of the crickets and the night animals scurrying about outside your window.

the way the moon shines into your room, the silver glow lighting the space.

the way the stars twinkle so bright, that even we, so far away, can see them.

but sometimes, deep in the night, when half the world is sleeping, the beauty goes away.

when the crickets quiet, and the moon’s light dies, and the stars are blocked by something dark and ominous.

when it comes, that’s when the beauty stops.

when it watches over you, sleeping, that’s when the beauty stops.

when it spills the blood of a loved one, and replaces them with something not entirely human, that’s when the beauty stops.

but eventually it leaves, and it lets the crickets sing and the moonlight lives and the starlight shines.

that’s when the beauty comes, clawing it’s way back from it’s temporary prison.