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misha 8h
the silver scalpel
against steel blue veins

the sickening metallic sound
like a gasp

the sickening metallic smell
of fresh blood

sleep well,
precious one.
sweet dreams.
naming a knife after someone you love? sounds ******, I like it.
misha Nov 19
have you ever had a dream
so good
that you felt light crashing through the sky
thought you'd wake up when you died
but you didn't?

you can dissolve into chemicals
so sweet
that the devil's face is in your eyes
and your hands are pinned by your side
but you aren't afraid?

you can caress that nightmare
be brave
and wake up feeling like a ray of light
be proud that you survived the night
to fall in love again?
... what a strange word.
misha Nov 6
between these
fluffy ears
there is infinite dream space

so come
take a rest
nestled in the grass

under a snowy blanket.
take it slow

leave your worries
to the birds,
and close your eyes.

when the blood
dries from your claws,
you won't even realize that

I can't hear myself breathe
I can't hear my own pulse
all I hear is

fun fact: Misha is a name that is commonly given to bears.
misha Oct 22
when you grow up,
what will you be?
I always wished
to be food for the trees

to not have to suffer
for one more night,
but it's been a year
and I guess I'm alright.

my body still moves,
but someone else pulls the strings
my brain is too rotten
to bother with those things.

the roots grow out
from under my eyes.
do the flowers smell nice?
do you love their lies?

to become a puppet,
doesn't it hurt?
not when you are piloted
by mother earth.

she took away the molecules
that made me feel good,
now there is a blank face
under the hood.

the decomposing me
can no longer feel,
and yet I still have
the power to heal.

the power to give,
and give, and give,
is that truly
my reason to live?
how much more must you take from me before you are happy?
misha Oct 22
sunny daffodil blooms
are still months away,
maybe that's a good thing
if you know what they say.

you can't swallow poison
if there's nothing to eat,
you can't be a victim
if you retreat.

you can't see the cracks
in the mirror that spread
if you stay locked up
within your own head.
misha Oct 21
rolled down windows
blow cold winter air.
where are we going?
I don't really care.

snow speckled hands
catching the sky,
laughing and singing
and feeling so high.

the radio plays languages
I don't understand
but that doesn't matter
when I'm holding your hand.

I want to get lost
on those foreign roads
I want to be buried
where nobody goes.
misha Oct 19
what happens when
a hug
turns into hands that grasp
claws that tear
wings that smother
into silence?

what happens when
cotton candy clouds
and imaginary laughter
rot and drip
forming fetid pools
under the eyes?
what happens when i can't hear my own voice
what happens when can't hear my own voice
what happens when can't hear my own voice
what happens when can't hear my own voice
what happens when can't hear my own voice
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