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seal Mar 9
alas, she remained
silent in the eyes of all,
then left without words.

in a rush of confusion,
they waited, yet no return.
seal Feb 2020
my ink bleeds from all angles.
it tumbles around and clings to your tangles
and stumbles through pages and pages on end,
tickles my mind before i hit send.
seal Feb 2020
black, bitter coffee,
baggy eyes, tired being,
sorry existence.
seal Feb 2020
a dog and a man
through the window
of my lyft.
a man with his thoughts
in his head so adrift.
a dog with his owner
laying patiently for command.
an owner and his dog,
a leash in his hand.
seal Feb 2020
and thus, the bleeding ceases.
i've since dislodged the knives
entangled in my chest,
embedded in my spine.
i've rid myself of poison
that once fogged up my mind.
the parts of me that held me back
are all that's left behind.
the blades are sharp and like my head
are due for some refining
but even blades,
sharp as they be,
all have a silver lining.
the wounds inflicted by such knives
have struck me at my core.
bring on the rain, this little flower
thirsts to grow some more.
seal Feb 2020
drunk with sleep jotting words down
with the weight of heavy thoughts.
the image, the room, the clapping hands
tie my brain in knots.
nails through my arms, downward spiral
cascading into my head.
lonely space, a clustered room,
my irises were stained red.
the burden of pain seeps into my skin
where potted plants are shattered.
the flesh underneath slowly becomes
heavy and worn and tattered.
the weight of my limbs slowly snakes out
constricting my every breath.
time is against me, legs have grown weak
while running straight towards my death.
the smiles they wore, gingerly placed,
caused my eyeballs to melt away.
that knife in my chest burrowed down deeper,
but tonight, i'll let you stay.
the rain didn't cease, yet the sun was out
on the other side of the mirror.
the images scattered throughout my subconscious
left me feeling inferior.
"if this is the lowest i've ever been
the only way out is up."
my innards were spilling into the room
but i gave up on acting tough.
i lowered my fists and admitted defeat
my white flag proudly waved.
the various poisons that coursed through my veins
would escort me to my grave.
they say, when you're bit, you cut yourself open
to rid yourself of bad blood.
i've ****** myself dry but at this point in time,
i fear it isn't enough.
to escape with my life, to live everyday
as if to steal it from death.
i sit and ponder my existence
and wonder about what's left.
if this is the road carved into my core,
i'm uneasy to say that i'm ready.
i wipe tears from my face, brace myself
to try to hold my hands steady.
my palms grazed the surface, my fingertips yearning
for something hidden in me.
my hands clasp the handle somewhere in my being
to try to tear the knife free.
the crimson blood emerges, too,
and paints the air with pain.
if this i my life, i can only fight
to not live it out in vain.
seal Feb 2020
for so long i've been walking
wounded
knives in my back,
arrows through my chest.
when you're hurt,
you have to clean
the incision,
seal it,
give it time to heal.
i skipped the
first step
and rushed ahead.
i tried to heal around
the knives.
i tried to heal
around the arrows.
my skin engulfed them
so tight that they had become
a part of me.
until one day i realized
and started to pluck them
each one by one
reopening any wounds
i had worked so hard to
nurse and care for.
now i dig at my skin.
the bleeding has resumed
and the worst pain comes
from cleaning out the wounds.
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