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my arms are burning.

there are invisible ants
devouring my skin
and thorns
piercing my body

a stream of liquid rose petals
floods down my hands
drips from my fingertips
trickles to the floor!

it is the only thing
I
FEEL

and i’m addicted
i’m addicted addicted addicted—

My body is filled with ROSES.

Bite my tongue
Carve my skin
Tear off every layer
Pierce my heart
Cut off my neck
Impale my head

Let rose petals spill from me while I watch.
—“they love me, they love me not,” i whisper
I held your heart in my hand,
Held it aloft beneath the moons glint,
Squeezing it sponge like
Until it oozed deep red rain,
Tingeing the clouds
Scarlet to crimson, ruby to blood.

The harder I squeezed
The more your heart emptied,
Trickling rivulets that
Traced the map of veins in my arm,
Soaking into my shirt,
White linen turning deceptively black
Beneath a dark sky.

I felt your heart pulsating,
Reacting against my grasp,
Forcing my clawed fingers to flat open palm,
My hold forcefully released.
I thought it would fall
And lie beating but beaten on the ground.
Instead, it rose unaided,
Elevated enough to obscure the cold moon,
Pulsating, vibrating, transforming,
Until it became the moon itself
And turned the sky black-red.

And now I hide within the bleak woods,
I feel your pinching hold,
Your tightening clench,
And I feel your gravitational pull,
Crashing me like a wave
Against the jagged rocks
Of what remains of us.
What do you see in me
Do you see a smiling girl?
A smart girl?
A girl who loves to sing?
A girl who always knows how to make you laugh?
Or who knows what your going to say?
A girl you can tell everything to?
A girl who sees the good in the world?
Who sees nature differently?
Who sees purity in the dark?
Someone who knows how to fly?
What if I told you...
I'm the girl who goes on crying for days...
I'm the girl who does school work 6 hours straight,afraid to fail....
I'm the girl who poors out her feelings in song because no one can hear my words...
Who only makes you laugh so she doesn't cry...
Who knows what you will say because she remembers every one of your words afraid they will be your last...
I'm the girl who listens to your problems so she doesn't have to live through hers...
Who sees the good so she can chase away the bad...
Who wishes she could be a bird that way she'd finally be free...
I'm the girl who is the dark so she picks out the purity because she wishes to be that light...
I'm the girl who only knows how to fly because I'm scared to fall...
Do you still see those things in me?
Am I still that never ending joyful person?
Tears of love

They are not joyful ones

But, I believe

necessary.

They flow

along with my prayers,

for my offspring

some of whom

are

the prodigals.

Cynthia Jean 2017
And it's moments like these
where you stop moving and the world
spins
And your body feels so heavy
like rocks, like mountains,
like the whole world is pushing down
like you're drowning
in gravity
like none of the rules of physics apply
And it's like quicksand
there's no bottom to the pit
you've dug
and no ladder, no stairway, no handholds
you're falling
And you feel like you can barely breathe
barely blink
barely live
Depression isn't something cool
not a fad
or a trend
it's a sentence
a death sentence
and I don't know whether or not I can lift it
because somedays,
like today,
it's just too heavy
"In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.


Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields."

John McCrae
During World War I, a Canadian Expeditionary gunner and medical officer, John McCrae, fought in the Second Battle of Ypres near Flanders, Belgium.

Describing the battle as a "nightmare," as the enemy made one of the first chlorine gas attacks, John McCrae wrote:

"For seventeen days and seventeen nights none of us have had our clothes off, nor our boots even, except occasionally. In all that time while I was awake, gunfire and rifle fire never ceased for sixty seconds...

And behind it all was the constant background of the sights of the dead, the wounded, the maimed, and a terrible anxiety lest the line should give way."


Finding one of his friends killed, John McCrae helped bury him along with the other dead in a field.

Noticing the field covered with poppy flowers, he composed the famous Memorial Day poem, "In Flanders Fields":
The lily has a smooth stalk,
  Will never hurt your hand;
But the rose upon her brier
  Is lady of the land.

There's sweetness in an apple tree,
  And profit in the corn;
But lady of all beauty
  Is a rose upon a thorn.

When with moss and honey
  She tips her bending brier,
And half unfolds her glowing heart,
  She sets the world on fire.
What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow:
What are brief? today and tomorrow:
What are frail? Spring blossoms and youth:
What are deep ? the ocean and truth.
I lie awake.
The half moon,
whose soft white shine
invades my room
and makes the tears that rest on my cheeks sparkle;
illuminates half of my face
so that the moon and I
can become a whole.

Only me
and the silence of 2 A.M.

Outside goes the party-goer
-knackered and filled with a portion of fresh memories
that won't be found in the morning-
to his rest.

Only he
and the silence of 2 A.M.

Outside stumbles the drunkard
-with repressed thoughts and events
that he couldn't erase out of his memory by a bottle-
to his end.

Only he
and the silence of 2 A.M.

Outside staggers the broken one
-with blood that’s drowning in wine and as red as the lips of the woman he tries to forget-
to his death.

Only he
and the silence of 2 AM.
L.T.
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