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Every  late night filled with bliss
is etched in red
like lipstick from a stolen kiss
on the white of this bed.

Every single grey smudge shows
a world of lows written in pencil
but still I see those highs
clearly in my murky memory.

Every scar slowly branded into
burnt skin that eventually healed
are tally marks for the demons I slew
and hint at battles that will not yield.

Memory made
World written
Battle beaten

Stained, Smudged and Scarred
A blank and Boring canvas
A seething red rage pulsates
like molten metal
through vains on the brink of bursting,
As if he guzzled a gallon of gasoline
and with a sick sick smile
swallowed a lit cigarette.

Still shrieking he strikes the floor.
White knuckled with fractured fists
shredded vocal chords,
crimson tears and cracked teeth
he's held upright only by spite
and a heart harbouring hate.

So as he stands
He scratches a single name
into a single bullet
and starts to shovel two graves
then prays for three lives
that are about to be forever shaken.
Both love and hate burn scars into a heart that are slow to heal.
Tight and tortuous spaces slowly starve a once brilliant flame.
Reduced to vicious gasping as a faint flicker fades,
****** fists do all but break through these cold concrete walls
That darken ever so slowly.
Quick heavy breaths of precious vapour
like limp light from a dying flame,
Will soon be  little more than an impossible choice.

Would it's warmth justify a shorter struggle
Or should I ***** the flame
And endure this creeping cold.
With more time these blows and bashes
May crack these newly red walls.
Still, gambling Men may suffer in vain
But even a fool sees with they could obtain
So let me grab my dice,
And clutch my cross as I roll
to clash against these crooked cards.
Motionless I writhe
am I awake, asleep...alive?
I can't tell anymore
as i fall through the floor,
and just keep slowly sinking
"Am i being
a lonely weakling
for leaving
my feelings

If so then why has

this healing been
a rather slow process.
But though i let
the blur grow into a mess
It is with great regret

So, with a lit cigarette
I sigh.

Waiting to waken,
succumbto slumber
or release the last sliver of life
from my eyes.
My shadow's seductive song
steers me into a comatose state,
as a deep slumber or senseless stupor
envelops me
It starts to gnaw away
at what I thought was real.
leaving a murky thick blur,
that swallows
like the black rushing wave
of an absolute abyss.
Twisting dark spirals cluster,
as a pulsating pressure
thuds away urgently like a ticking
clock counting down the time

Slowly as I sink,
I embrace its cold peace
that's sweetly sweeps over me.
charred skin cleanse by fire
wraps 'round my body
like a deathly black cocoon
scars burns and bruises blur
as my searing limbs
engulfed in flames
what burns away as ash
becomes the trail of the fires
i forged forward through
as my corpse collapses
let me be reborn as a Phoenix
so we may forge forward together
free and new
The burning away of what makes us feel disfigured or worthy of being thrown away is a painful process. one that is often done alone, but whether you burn those things away with God or family or work , healing will take place.
William de klerk Nov 2019
Uncertainty clings to my mind
like morning due to brand-new greenery.
I know not what weeds lurk unseen
nor of the beauty that has yet to be

should I remain a lone flower
sheltered in the shield of a sepal
in waiting for my hour of opening
unprotected to the proud of people
yet fully alive, honest and free.

OR am I that withering ****
in need of severing with one Swift swing .
harsh enduring and ruthless
a hideous prickly mess
growing at the price death

one day will I grow to bare a beautiful fruit
draw blood from those that pull on my root
A random seed , has the potential to grow into anything , some see the plants we label as a **** as undesirable, but a **** will grow and endure at all costs , while a frail flower might be suffocated by a **** , it's short and beautiful life will certainly be more celebrated
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