u/SeedPlantedBackward

There is deep darkness here.
I can see the worms feasting on my corpse—
Is this the punishment for my sins?

Someone left a wound of petals on my grave,
but why does it burn like a liar’s kiss?
The light is a blade, carving into me,
every ray a verdict I cannot escape.

When I was alive, I was a storm they cursed.
Now they kneel at my grave, offering hymns.
Well, at least death brought some benefit.

Each day, the earth’s jaws chew me slower.
This shroud is a cradle of false peace.
Every dawn, I crumble into scripture;
every dusk, I am rewritten in ash.

In the world, I was a locked door.
In the grave, I am the key rusting shut.
This will go on it doesn’t stop.

The world keeps spinning, and I spin along with it
When it stops, a new beginning will rise.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/hPXmK6ZBJG

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/2S9tGQK8ym

I opened my bookshelf.
The doors groaned with a gothic sound,
as if they wished to remain closed.

Inside lay a book with a black cover,
dark as the deepest hour of night.
When I opened it, it laughed—
these were the chapters of my life.

I picked another book,
its cover amber, like the sun fading at the horizon.
Inside were my sins,
quietly devouring the light of my heart.

Another book waited,
covered in grey—
a sky where the day had been eclipsed.
Its pages held my despair.

Then I opened a white book,
smooth as a pearl, shining with borrowed purity.
Suddenly maggots crawled from its pages.
It was the book of my good deeds,
the ones I performed only for the eyes of the world.

I closed the bookshelf.

And then my heart stopped beating.

Because the bookshelf
was my heart.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/hnJUHejeKY

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Nu1xAmayKA