The scorpions inside:
I can bleed, for that’s just what I do, but I am a child of the earth and I don’t think I know you.
The bones sticking out of my skin are screaming for air, but I push them back in and let them drown a little longer. For the pain is worth the everlonged delay of the sweet release of death.
And I don’t care, what do you think of me because I don’t have the time when the scorpions buried deep inside eating me alive.
Eating me alive.
Infested,
Cause the scorpions inside use me as a puppet to get free, but you use a cage of my own body and me.
And I don’t care, what you think of me because I don’t have the time when the scorpions buried deep inside eating me alive.
Alive.
Knowing that I should fight, doesn’t feel so right, when the scorpions buried deep inside,
have eaten my corpse alive.
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Author:
Micah Finchley (
Offline) - Published: September 16th, 2026 16:35
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: What if I change?.
Offline)
Comments2
Dark and morbid it speaks of death. Scorpions the sign of betrayal and eating you. Well written
Thank you
You are very welcome
Micah, this is visceral and unrelenting...the repeated return makes the suffering feel impossible to escape. Powerful writing, but more importantly, I hope the person behind it is safe and not carrying this alone. š¹š¤ššÆļøš¦āā¬
Thank you, and Iām good x
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