“You are a little soul carrying about a corpse, as Epictetus used to say.” ― Marcus Aurelius

Good news obscure poetry fans – I have another #TBT treat for you!

I can’t take all the credit for this one, it was the combined effort of myself and several school friends – the result of one of many days spent the days lurking in the sixth form study room (we were far too unpopular to think of straying into the so called ‘common’ room). I had been set the task of writing a sonnet for an English literature task, and implored upon my school friends to help me.



Ode to a rotting corpse emily_of_corpse_bride_by_starreyley94-d3krr5b

Shall I compare thee to a rotting corpse?
Thou art more gruesome and more horrid yet,
The one for whom the maggots use their sporks
To eat up all the rotting flesh they get.
Sometimes I want to tear your eyeballs out
And often I succeed in doing this,
And all the time I wish that you had gout
By summer you will smell like rotting fish.
But that will not redeem your horrid life.
Nor make your presence any less morbid.
Nor will you ever learn to play the fife,
While rancid lips remain so, so sordid.
As long as there is flesh still on your bones,
I hope to always hear your corpsey moans.


I am beginning to get the impression that I was a strange child…

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