Dying (Morbid Visions) by Robert Garcia - HTML preview

Group of hands (Dying Will)

 

A group of hands came as one

To forget to lift a dying body

Out of a fountain

A group of hands

Lifted colours out of a colourless corpse

To create the seeds needed to take out the death from the corpse

 

A method extreme

 

Violent and death-like

 

Causing death rather than repairing what was wrong.

 

Rather than giving life, the method the hands used was to take away the death by killing the corpse with no colours.

 

No colours to have given it life, no colours to have taken away a life for the approach of a sad death.

 

A sadness in life, where there was no happiness to be immerged by telling the living corpse “you are alive.”

 

No sadness to be given to something already lost and destroyed while living.

 

A descend of green, over the fountain by the hands of life.

 

Failing to give the life to the corpse that it would have received…. If it possessed colours.

 

Failing to do anything to change how the corpse thought. It was just a dead corpse, rotting from swallowing no colours to awaken it to the outside world.

 

The hands scream at a foolishness and try to retreat, but a retreat lacking life.

 

They fall with the corpse in the fountain, dead and rotting a deep, darkly deceased gray of a sudden suffer.

 

And so, the corpse rises.

 

Its colourless insides receive life from the fallen hands that suffered to bring something great to something barren

 

…. a dry fountain.

 

 

Holding Hands (Force of Dying)

 

 

One finger entwined with another finger. Nowhere to run, as a whole hand comes down to intertwine a spirit with a body that never wanted it.

 

Nowhere to force the body to go away into a sky.

 

It goes somewhere no flowing day can reach it.

 

It goes to a place no existing scrap of force can find it,

 

Where it floats in a cloudless sky with nay purpose.

 

The hands break their fingers, as the fingers turn to something so crooked,

 

You wonder how it was ever alive to begin with.

 

A loss of force, floating in a cloudless sky.

 

 

The Hands (Force of Visions)

 

A hand that gave lightning to a soul that wished to see

What they thought was “beauty”,

Whatever that ever meant.

An empty word, full of a tongue, but a nothing feeling.

 

An empty word…. a vision must be shown for reality to understand why someone would want to see what comes before death.

 

A vision that makes someone lose sight of if they are an animal, as they are surged through with electricity of life.

 

They discover themselves…. An animal they wished they had become…. But tit was too late. The deciding factors of being human were already set into place.

 

The hands of visions reach down to seal an animal away from how they feel.

 

A hand is a powerful tool-making many things, destroying many others.

 

Spinning the electricity of visions in its fingers of old age, the surges that make a memory

 

Are what matter to the human seeing their visions

 

A surge of gray and gold….

 

It is surged into her,

 

The miss he longed for

 

A desire of lighting,

 

Making her glow

 

The hands of visions

 

Splash her out throughout the soil’s dirt.

 

She smiles as she squeezes the hand

 

That shows her

 

A lover she thought never existed

 

As a child

 

 

Thrusted Hand (Wrong Visions)

 

 

When a hand was thrust

 

To grab a memory from a mind

 

The mind didn’t want

 

It let the hand have it

 

As it ate the solace it felt

 

From being removed

 

Of the unpleasant memory

 

A vision of sunshine

 

Put into the mind

 

To heal its wounds of salt

 

A salt that infected with a spread of love

 

Into the open wound of the mind

 

Healing what could not be visibly seen,

 

The mind felt connected to a dream

 

The mind felt connected to

 

Something far,

 

It wanted to dream about.

 

Without any salt clogging the mind

 

The hand took advantage of the peace

 

And inserted salt back into a closed wound,

 

Spreading the unpleasant memory to hurt

 

The barer of the mind

 

The wound closed,

 

Only a few grains of salt made their way

 

Through

 

It was enough to through

 

A mind into a panic

 

But not to pierce its inside

 

With fear

 

That fear was reserved

 

For the hand

 

Who suddenly felt shame at trying

 

To hurt a mind

 

Brushing salt out of the way with fingers

 

Careful and gentle to not cause damage to a mind,

 

The hand retreated back

 

To a comfort of darkness

 

A sad fate

 

It held in

 

Its palm

 

Naked with exposure

 

To the air

 

Unaffected by the salt,

 

The hand that spread hurt unintentionally

 

Apologized

 

By realizing what it had done

 

Realizing it did not want to do that

 

The something which it did….

 

 

It moved the salt

 

Out of the way

 

The wound closed beneath it

Sealing itself away

 

 

Hands of Wishful Thinking (Fate)

 

 

A hand reached out, to grab a space in life

 

Through the grab, the hand slipped, and fell into a nothing

 

Space of “fate”.

 

A hollow space, filled with visions of life

 

That would never come true

 

If not for a hand

 

That tied strings that would made

 

A future

 

A possibility

 

 

When it was tied, a future became real

 

When it was tied, a future seized being a fake

 

It became a real, held together with something

 

Not able to be seen….

 

 

So it seems like something was set in motion

 

What is called “the hand of fate” made sure

 

It run its correct path

 

 

Towards who knows where.

 

 

But what if the “hand” is a lie?

 

Something made up by people

 

To understand and make sense

 

Of what they can’t

 

Is there any point

 

To laying trust

 

 

With something that may or may not exist

 

 

And “happen”

 

 

When you never expected it?

 

 

It may be

 

Such a power

 

Was created by animals

 

To make sense

 

Of a natural

 

 

Life.

 

 

…. a sense that something is wrong,

 

…. That our lives can be made….

 

…. Right.

 

 

A dream we made up for ourselves

 

 

Our hands were

 

 

“fated”….

 

 

To exist….

 

 

Somehow else

 

So, the clock ticks

 

What exists

 

Is a mystery

 

 

The Flower

 

A plant ready to grow.

An environment beginning to feed.

 

A bloom of golden.

A sight of the spring season.

 

A foot.

No one remembers.

 

The flower is buried in a heavy rainfall

The next day

 

No funeral

No one remembers.

 

 

Earth Flower

 

 

Re-growing a flower in its place

 

 

The earth forms with dirt

 

A form shaped like a plant

 

 

Who died

 

 

Living in the dirt for a day

 

 

The next day

 

 

The rainstorm came

 

 

Washing it away

 

 

An empty flower

 

 

Dirt couldn’t made it feel alive again

 

 

The next day

 

 

No rain

 

In a spring

 

 

The dirt flower grows again

 

 

Resurrected from the rain

 

 

Nearing a completion of life, a small yellow bud grows beneath pedals of dirt

 

 

Whole and complete….

 

Blooming before, the grown flower remembered it.

 

 

 

The Wanderer (Nowhere)

 

 

In a mountain of sand, a figure left home

 

Going somewhere, it didn’t have a destination

 

Wandering through…. Empty hills of a gray grass

 

Wandering through…. Empty valleys of a gray cement

 

Wandering through…. Gray neighbourhoods, having lost their colour

 

A hand touches the houses that the wanderer walks through

 

Her hand is soft and caressing, moving the world in her fingertips

 

When she watches the wanderer go

 

To a destination of nowhere

 

When he tries to fight his pointlessness

 

She is there

 

With her softly commanding voice and pink lips

 

To remind him

 

How much he wanders aimlessly….

 

She puts her hands on his head

 

And strokes his hair,

 

Kissing him gently with her soft

 

And pink lips

 

After wandering a while,

 

The wandering boy dies

 

In her strong arms,

 

Smooth with femininity

 

 

When he is reborn,

 

She has left him

 

 

Leech

 

 

On a death bed, an old man cries of his family

 

Feeling the pain of his natural disease, he wonders why

 

The human body was such a fragile machine

 

To begin with

 

His daughter,

 

Grown up and twenty-eight,

 

Holds his hand as she starts to die

 

“The nurses told me I don’t have much time left.”

 

The old man says

 

Gripping his hand close to her chest,

 

She kisses him goodbye,

 

As the leeches from inside his disease

 

Begin to feed on his life,

 

Spilling onto her as they bite

 

“Ahhhh!” A scream of terror, as they try to eat her

 

Shaking them off her golden skin,

 

She sees they have destroyed

 

The smooth glow of herself

 

Her flesh is lost

 

In its smooth, soft place

 

Is a swarm of crème-coloured

 

Leeches.

 

She joins her grandfather in an afterlife.

 

 

Dying Bed

 

 

On a bed

 

Where she doesn’t know she is dying

 

She feels the pain of sorrow

 

As her mouth tightens to hold in

 

The pain of internal distress

 

Pouring her pink out of her lips

 

She barely has time to give herself

 

A cry of despair

 

Before spikes hidden under the bed

 

Crush her bones and skin

 

When they stab her life

 

To an end

 

A goddess who is mangled, her golden skin placed upon

 

Sheets of bone

 

Broken at the ends of her delicate flesh

 

As soft as

 

Her sexy outside

 

 

Her Spear

 

 

Affecting those she passed without knowing it,

 

Her spear digs into a someone

 

As they die from its touch

 

Bleeding out what she sees in herself

 

She realized the problem

 

She had with killing everybody

 

Laid within her

 

Bringing herself to find a knife

 

And remove her wonderful eyes from this world

 

She doesn’t want to see the pain

 

She inflicts on other people

 

Anymore.

 

So, she decides to leave her eyesight behind….

 

But that doesn’t stop the screams she hears

 

Of all her dying victims

 

As she doesn’t even realize

 

The faults still lie with her

 

In order to stop all of this,

 

She takes her wonderful goddess body,

 

Soft with crème skin

 

Out of existence

 

Slashing it from top to bottom

 

 

Opening a wound

 

 

The length of her tall body of power

 

 

The pain makes the girl grow

 

 

Sinking (Falling Sand)

 

 

In a strange destination,

 

She finds a house

 

That looks vaguely like her own

 

A house that is covered in moss and overgrown with parasites

 

A house she recognizes

 

She lived in with her family when she was a young girl

 

Splashing water from a nearby lake on the ground,

 

She realizes the sand is so fragile

 

With a loud and deep gasp, assertive to the danger present

 

She starts sinking in the damp sand

 

Bringing her past with her

 

Sinking in a dark mirage of grains

 

The sand is made of charcoal,

 

Crushed up under the earth

 

Crushed up under her feet,

 

The grains tear and shred her feet

 

Dripping blood out of the whole wounds

 

That completed her dreamy appearance,

 

She falls through the grains

 

Emerging on the other side

 

As someone torn-up by life.

 

 

Spear (Shot with Death)

 

Spears tipped with love

Pierce into her heart

 

Her heart stops beating

 

As she feels the pain of heartbreak

 

And a fist of sorrow crushes her from over her head

 

She sees herself in the mirror

 

The fist presents to her

 

Making her wonder

 

Why anyone would want to break her heart

 

Staring back at her....

 

A girl so wonderful

 

Pleasing and captivating

 

Resting around an aura of gold

 

Silver streaks running inside her skin

 

She sees to radiate something special

 

Like a light

 

No one can see

 

Hidden away from a living view

 

No one wants to see

 

Those who broke her heart

 

Consumed by their own darkness

 

 

Maybe that’s for the best

 

Light and dark don’t mix

 

Everything is so backwards with them

 

So maybe there’s no point of this heartbreak

 

She realizes this

 

As the girl’s terror at the glass fast crushing her….

 

It goes away,

Inside her,

To a place she wants to keep hidden

From others

 

Heartbreak dies inside her

 

 

Confusion at Death (Warped Her)

 

 

Lying on a corpse,

 

An alive body feels its suffering before death

 

A mental link with a body that can’t think

 

A mental link with her, dead on the grass,

 

As animals scurry around her death to collect her

 

The alive body lying on top

 

Feels her sink into mud beneath him

 

Feels her sink into a grave with him

 

As he feels her mind warp

 

From being torn at by the animals

 

Her mind falls out, squished by mud

 

As he lets himself see her life

 

A dead corpse waves him goodbye

 

With a twisted, decayed mind….

 

That can only think of him

 

In death….

 

At night,

 

He stays with her

 

 

False Death

 

Cutting a throat with a knife,

 

He was too scared to understand it was his own

 

He fakes thinking he is alive

 

After his life ruptures

 

 

Cutting her face with a blade,

 

She was too consumed with herself

 

To understand she had killed herself

 

Smiling coyly at the attention

 

The blade had given her

 

Believing it to be so flattering

 

As her scar grew

 

Along with her widening eyes

 

And look of strong self-reward

 

 

Dying in the ground,

 

They seem to hold hands together:

 

Both confused by death, both faking being alive for their own reasons

 

They were meant for each other

 

They fall into a hopeless life together.

 

 

The Grip (Of Death)

 

A strong grip that grabs a throat

 

Choking life out of the living creature

 

While it squirms and flails in agony

 

A mountain of death

 

Falling from its nose

 

Blood is seeped out of her

 

As she loses her grip on reality.

 

Still living, she wanders through her gripped life,

 

With a constant fear of an end,

 

Her bloody memories of life falling out of her nose

 

When the grip choked her