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  Jun 2018 Hannah Marr
What I Feel
You're hurting. You're hurting bad.
I can see it in your bloodshot eyes
And how you shy away from smiles
Directed at you. Now your once-had
Gleaming spirit dwindles as it tries
To cut its pain with bleak exile.

But blood is pumping through your veins -
Don't change its course with nails or steel.
Our love for you will never fade, though
You ask me what I'd do if somone else took hold your reins
And replaced you, thinking that would make us feel
Happier - without you? Never. No.

I feel anger and frustration because I'm only human,
But nothing on this planet makes me happy like you can.
I love you, you know that. Believe that in yourself.
So stay with me - you'll be with me,
a heart within myself.
I love you. We all love you. Don't beat yourself up so much, or guess what we are thinking. We don't know what we'd do without you.
Hannah Marr Jun 2018
i.
it is in the nature of grief to cause pain, to burn like a candle wick from the inside out. it's fore-bearer, loss, is a gnawing hole in one's heart. passion has always been give and take, but you feel it has taken more than it has ever given.

ii.
'all is fair in love and war' they say. but what of this misery is fair? 'it's better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.' a seed of love had been planted, and took root, and the roots took the soil with them when that love was ripped away, leaving only a hole. such bereavement cannot be comforted with such cheap words.

iii.
love is a many splintered thing, the edges cutting even as the euphoria sets in. you planted flowers in your chest, so that it may become a garden to harbor if they so chose to reside in your heart, hopeful flower child that you are. alas, the writing was on the wall, and they only grew thorns. they torched the roses and reveled in the flames as your heart withered. ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

iv.
now is the winter of your discontent, just staying one day ahead of yesterday. the ocean of your salty tears is deep, and you are barely keeping your head above the water. time is meaningless here, in the seas of your despair. your barren soul is the land that time forgot.

v.
now you know that crows are black everywhere, no matter the beauty of their feathers and the shining gifts they bring. your infatuated delusions were a far cry from reality, and you can only mourn your innocent naivety from when you believed in miracles.

vi.
you wash your hands, sloughing off garden-soil, flower-ash, and sea-salt stains. you pluck the glossy feather from behind your ear and watch it spiral to the ground. you remember. you remember. you remember. and the fiery memories swallow you whole.

h.f.m.
Hannah Marr Jun 2018
i.
You thought that the kitchen lights were almost high-beams on a freeway. Colors were crisp (too crisp), vivid as if the world were a high definition television, one with everyone scurrying around on fast forward with the volume turned up, blaring louder than your ability to comprehend. Everything was too much, too fast, too loud.

Everything was, simply put, overwhelming.

ii.
There was a word for that, you thought. A word for that feeling of detached, surreal immediacy.

Dissociation? No.
Derealization? Maybe.

Whatever it was, it couldn't possibly hold this, the whole of what this was, how it felt, in this moment, in this moment, in this—

iii.
You realized you were spiraling.

You pulled out, sharply, sharp enough to cut yourself. You looked at the blood beading on your wrist like ruby spheres of light. It was beautiful, entrancing. You could watch it forever...

iv.
There is a knife in your hand.

There is always a knife in your hand, you think, even when there isn't, when your hands are empty.

It means you're always ready to hurt someone, even when you're not, when you are empty.

v.
The world is normal again, after that.
Slowed down, quieter.

vi.
Kitchen lights are just kitchen lights, after all. How could they possibly make you think of driving? Driving fast, and furiously, reaching the speed limit and still flooring the pedal, seeing how far you could go before you ran out of gas or crashed gloriously in a blaze of light and sound and sparks and sirens—

vii.
You've forgotten where you're going with this.

viii.
You've been gone a while, you think, in that state.
You're pretty sure you're back again.

Now?
You just want to sleep.

h.f.m.
Hannah Marr Jun 2018
i want to tear the breath from lords
to feel their pulse flutter and fade beneath my fingers

i want to rip kings from their thrones
to feel their bodies shatter beneath my hands

i want to parade on the bones of sultans
to feel a country's strength crumble beneath my feet

i want to pluck the wings off angels
to feel their burning, holy tears on my skin

i want to drink the blood of gods
to feel that bittersweet nectar dripping from my lips

i want to devour the universe whole
to feel that pulsing, raw power in my veins

h.f.m.
Hannah Marr Jun 2018
Death, my friend,
why are you so late in coming?
Seventy years will be a bit much
to keep your girl waiting.

Death, my friend,
have you forgotten about me?
I have my papers in order,
I'm ready to go when you are.

Death, my friend,
how long will you leave me on my own?
I'm lonely, you know,
and I miss you a great deal.

Death, my friend,
how much time do I have left?
I want to see the sands in the hourglass
and watch the years, the days slipping away.

Death, my friend,
how long are you going to keep me waiting?
How I wish to return to your embrace,
but I suppose I'll have to be patient a bit longer.

Death, my friend,
are you truly not coming for me?
Are you leaving me to continue this life
to completion, for closure?

Death, my friend,
are you sure about this?
I want to be with you, but if,
as it seems, you insist, I will live on.

For now, then, my friend.

I will see you soon.

h.f.m.
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