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Oskar Erikson Aug 2023
beat into me until i'm broken and the feelings
alight the layer of skin just below the outermost,
like the lining of a jacket, catching aflame.

scratch out the remaining worries with the spines of your teeth.
rake me upwards, shred the doubts like old sunburn peel, and peel and peel the layers of mistrust off of me till i'm raw, pink and ready.

never has this body not been scarred
without first feeling excitement.

since you pierced it, now you're responsible. I'll chase that ownership, mutually owed, to the end of all meaning. till the sensations are the only bits that still make sense, and then you can make up for everything else.

only after this, after everything else is spread across a blood splattered floor, can things start again. only once you make up for not returning the parts of me. only once my remaining organs, now calcified, have been cracked to their inner ichor, and you tip me gently into your thankless lungs.

only once the prostration, the words left since butchered into me, have been flayed by your regret, and raised to the height of saints.

hang me up.
swing by my legs and wrap around the root of me like you once would.
debase yourself inside of me again, learn to build something again. dig deeper than needed again, strike copper in my veins so I can oxidise again. watch me alight again, at your briefest touch.
Oh, ye of little faith…
“Know ye not that He shall
Give His angels charge over thee,
to keep thee?” inquired the Sage.

Hm… I hear the same charge was levied against the Lord.
In truth, to grow in leaps of faith is my heart’s sole desire,
so increase my faith I pray thee, Oh Lord!
“But pray tell me, thou Sage, since an outbreak of salmonella most dire,
with symptoms of gastroenteritis and chills,
at this very moment plagues fifteen states still,
shall faithful saints in affected states
eat unwashed but sanctified fruits and veggies,
and thus prove their strong and abiding faith?”

Also, lest I forget the angels who must daily don scrubs and masks,
“I pray tell me, what must we impressed upon such gentle souls
Who must daily don scrubs and masks?
Why does society abuse humanity’s best so,
when their sole desire is our wellness from head to toe?”
Speak not of the numbers who must have grave prices
paid for services they must unto the sick bestow.

Doubtlessly, with such an awakened consciousness,
One need not dread wintry days and nights.
Who needs fur coats, cashmere blankets, or campfires
When in faith we bash in warm, celestial delights?

Oh, thine uncommon wisdom, Oh Sage,
is to be extolled and praised by generations yet unborn.
Every life is merely a fleeting performance on a stage;
thus, make haste to engrave in stone such wisdom for the forlorn.
Simon Jul 2020
Wearing such an appearance as gentle thoughts is an illusion!
Wearing it for fun is the slow delusion creeping up on you.
Gentle thoughts may be fake... B-but at least I have my own dignity to outshine my true self as my truer appearance!
PS... Gentle thoughts
Gentle thoughts... Is a very remedial option!
Jonathan Moya Mar 2020
Good mothers make their children
fold and put away all clothes,
even hers after death.

Bad mothers make sure
they always wear them
for the rest of their lives.
ClawedBeauty101 Jul 2019
Although I am always cold
Maybe I have burdened my self...
With too much linen to wear and carry?
Although it brings my warmth, it is slowly suffocating me...
Abby M Dec 2018
I feel small
The world is a laughing giant
Wearing a coat to stop the cold
But all of her coats are too big for me
forestfaith Jun 2018
Thread by Thread, sowing light.
O so white, gloriously bright.

Like the Sun, hanging up high, shining brightly.
My Spirit soaring, my faith growing. The Passion burning.

A black canvas can be painted white.
Dark skies can still be streaked with light.

I don't know about you, but I will be wearing light.
The fire within burning bright. The light inside, never to be put out.
So wearing light is like wearing, showing other people the light that is within you. Hope, Love, Joy. To be spreading all those to other people. No matter where they are. The Passion is the passion for God, Jesus, to work for him, the desire to be with him. The passion to bring everyone back to God.
Poetic T May 2016
I lingered in pockets of madness, they were
like crushed velvet on my fingertips.
Soft gentle with a hint of static on my nails.

When I had lived in sanity it wore on me
like a cotton jumper, irratating  me, my
thoughts rational and lucid I felt *****.

*"We are only as crazy as the world around us,
Nick Moser Apr 2016
I try to breathe.
Which is a hard task for me.
My life is fading fast.

These new lungs I was given.
Make me feel unforgiven.
My breath will never last.

Life is hard to live.
When all I do is give.
And I receive nothing in return.

The new lungs are fading.
My wrists are blading.
My whole world is ready to burn.

I can't escape this Hell.
I've been deemed "mentally unwell."
I'm ready to be down for the count.

So I just crawl in bed.
And cover my head.
My new lungs are wearing out.
New Lungs
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