I will bury you
where the pigs eat.
Deep in the slop,
under rot and bone,
where nothing sacred survives.
No headstone.
No trace.
No search party
with your name in their mouths.
I made sure the dogs forgot your scent.
Shovel met dirt with rage.
You thought I’d crumble —
but I carved a hole so clean
God couldn’t find you
if He tried.
They say bodies talk.
Not yours.
I stripped you of voice,
of legacy,
of anything worth remembering.
No mourning.
No funeral.
No candle for your soul.
Just silence,
and the sound of swine
chewing through betrayal.
You died in me
the second the lie touched your lips.
What’s left?
Nothing.
Not even ash.
-
Author:
Sigmund Gilbert (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 20th, 2025 02:24
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments3
A fave for the emotion shown in this raw and dark poem of anger and hate. So well written it reeks of the smell of the pig pen and the thought of being rooted up and devoured by them. Nicely done
A nicely crafted write entrenched in the overwhelming feeling of anger, hate and rage. Haunting and dark yet has a real feel to it, nicely done
This piece came from a place most people don’t talk about — the raw, unfiltered part of betrayal where love is twisted into control, and care is turned into manipulation.
It’s not about revenge.
It’s about erasure — about reclaiming power when someone tries to rewrite your love story with lies.
“Where the Pigs Eat” isn’t subtle.
It’s what it feels like to bury the version of you that tolerated cruelty and silence the echo of someone who never deserved your heart in the first place.
No more mourning. No more remembering. No more giving space to someone who chose to become unrecognizable.
This is closure.
My way.
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