Dying (Morbid Visions) by Robert Garcia - HTML preview

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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




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




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






…. a sense that something is wrong,


…. That our lives can be made….


…. Right.



A dream we made up for ourselves



Our hands were






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






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




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




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


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