Deathcore Poem by Josue April

It reproduces me and heals.
It beats me down but crowns me still.
I am the plague that perfumes the air,
the rotten flesh of one week's despair.

How filthy must I be and bent
for structured poetry to lose its sense and scent.
Power, run, manifest, and be.
I could ask the weight inside my soul
to, once, let itself run free.

All of me drifts off into time,
time I cannot seize. No breath, no chime.
Few will say an avian rises from me,
yet truth is strength, a cry without pity.

In horrors I want to wade,
in marshes breathe and sway.
If the wind should harden to ice,
I will consume and smoke
whatever once held my ties.

What a complicated dream each night.
Hard to find, but easy to bite.
I take a step toward my body's deep pain,
but once inside I would rather swim like a dog again.

My face is horrified by feeling,
yet glad to still be me.
I hate the monster, but crave its eyes.
What became of the child…
The child died and rose within my lies.

Banished into a past,
consecrated by a tired spirit.
You will see the prayer I made was only layered scrawl,
the envelope of letters never sent at all.
They are written, they exist, they let themselves be and they live.

I do not want a corrupted crowd.
I want a soul that makes me live.
I am not the extrovert,
but expressions spill from me
even if they seek no meaning.

A scrap of trash that scrapes the ocean floor,
untroubled by the sight of an island's bone shore.
I do not float with the waves.
I sink and torment life,
and from me no cure will ever be drawn.

I ache to weep,
but the tears stayed home.
I want to scream,
but my voice has already composed
a crooked fourth-rate tune.

Oh me, the grail that built a home
and forgot to forge a roof before living inside.
Barbaric, trash,
but never soft, never sweet,
only at night in crimson heat.

Sea, earth, air.
What difference is there if I am not well.
How easy it is to drift
even though tormented
I must live.

I am not unhappy,
but my heart seeps like a root.
Even if a star's light
turns into an unbarred explosion,
I found no sign or proof
that the star remained alive.

All tattered, I keep speaking.
I do not want to, but I must.
Smiling burns me.
Crying entertains me.

Heart, mark me again.
Consecrate me as the first.
Many have soured you,
but you always took your time.
And the light in you
has never gone out.