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Sarah Ouhida Jan 27
an ache that never leaves, 
what an inexplicably evil thing.

Such an evil that stays,

even when I am staring

into the warm eyes of the sun
make it stop

make it stop.
Please, for the love of god,

make the ache stop.
dare I even pray anymore?

all I can do is claw at 
an
invisible wound 
in a dark, secret place.
red. nothing but red.

I taste it between my lips 

I feel it between my thighs.
It hurts.
it hurts.
feral loneliness 
is a wretched thing.
unholy
Sarah Ouhida Jan 26
in a holy room
she weeps
it is a Blue Sunday,
—don’t you hear her, Jim?

roses weeping
she dances
in the dark
it is pouring
and she is empty
— oh Axl, don’t you see her ?

she hopes she can touch heaven
she feels like gold
her blood is full of it !
dreamy,
oblivious
spiraling
she’s become numb
—Don’t you feel her, Roger?

she tries to find her way to heaven
a new life
but her wings are scarred
— can you get her there, Eric?
Sarah Ouhida Jan 26
only the dark can see
my desperate fingers
find reprise
in between
my  lonely thighs
she cries with me
I slip into
delirium
then she kisses me
goodnight
ma chérie
first poem on this site in almost three years. I am determined to try and post here regularly again. But, in the case I slip off again, you can find this poem and all my other works on my poetry instagram: sarahimanpoetry.
Sarah Ouhida Sep 2016
of violence and passion,
I beg you to let my heart be still
for in you both
are unholy inhibitions
that flow endlessly
and recklessly
when unleashed;
I cannot bear to have
any more blood
on my flesh
the wounds are still fresh

of violence and passion
I beg to let me sleep tonight
cease the revolution
that continues to
claws at my chest
deep from within

I beg I beg

of violence and passion
please let me breathe
for it is hard to live
when your lungs
are full of endless
destruction
and heartache
for it is hard to live
when every violent
word wants to flow from my mouth
and reveal in all the horror it will leave
in its wake
Sarah Ouhida Aug 2016
notes wrap around my heart
like a noose
suffocating
but sweet.

the strings cut beneath flesh
the vibrato pouring
into my veins.

melancholy surrounds me still
a phantom ravaging my skin.
But I can only submit,
there is no resistance
the melody has seduced me
*
in flesh
it has craved its name
this monster
that spills from
the beautiful depths
of music's darkest abyss .

*
in this ****
there is only one sound
-- that of a violin
and the ghosts of war.
inspired by the Carach Angren masterpiece "The Funerary Dirge of a Violinist"
Sarah Ouhida Aug 2016
your skin smells like honey,

soft as the silk I rest my head on,

whispering a prayer to a false idol

and a God so far away.



your lips taste of a heaven that I will never know of,

your eyes speak of a fiery passion that is reminiscent to that of ****,

of sin and secrets,

of pride, ****, and glory.



and as the morning dew drips from my lips onto yours,

I clutch the rosary harder,

my symphony that of an angel song

that went undiscovered many scores ago

here I breathe

and pray

ironic of course

but still I clutch the idol close

and keep God far away.
Sarah Ouhida Aug 2016
in soft blues and pastels I dream

of a sea that consumes me,

of waves that violently kiss my flesh.

in soft blues and pastels I bleed,


to a dream of a violently passionate love

that washes over me,

in one wave, in two, in twenty.  



in soft blues and pastels,

I taste the salt of the storm

it is bitter


and it sings of heartache and violence.



in soft blues and pastels,

I wish for the soft blue sky of dawn,

to embrace me



as I escape the wicked black nothingness
of the night

and of a love that never was.
the first part of a poetry collection I have started on Wattpad- it is entitled Neptune's Rhapsody: a collection of poetry (username is venusinourblood) and I figured I'd share here as I go along

I really want to complete a published (online obviously because I am a broke college student) poetry collection and I'd appreciate it for the support and shares!

I know this is kinda spammy, but I would love an audience; writing for no one has grown weary.
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