deepundergroundpoetry.com

Maggots

Depression, akin to a common fly,
emits a dull buzzing that protrudes the skull.
 
Still it does so with, in it own way,  
beauty,
to decompose that which was once living beneath the flesh.
 
A buzzing, a tearing, a gnawing into skin
into flesh
 
A maggot? An egg? A thought in my head?
 
Once you lay down to accept the dead. They hatch, slither, encroach, leaving you like lead.
For why else would a fly bore into unneeding flesh and retake whats left in the bones.
 
Nearly hollow enough now.
Gouged , consumed, recreated.
 
Soon to fly, to be one of them.
Maybe that is the answer to the end.
 
Where we are and where we've once been.
We'll become the maggots festering within the bones of a friend.
We, as well as depression, a fly on the wall, soon to lead our friends to the decaying fall
JetNikolai
Written by JetNikolai
Published | Edited 5th Feb 2021
Author's Note
Flies are a favorite subject to think about. I paint them draw them write about them. I see them everywhere. Recently I've hit one of my depressions and haven't been able to make anything. But flies...
Flies are a favorite subject to think about. I paint them draw them write about them. I see them everywhere. Recently I've hit one of my depressions and haven't been able to make anything. But flies and their unique beauty, strangely have been the thing to give me motivation.
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