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Her sleeve slips
Her scars show
People stare
People judge
Picks herself up
She’s been through worse
She is an artist
Her skin is the canvas
The blood is the paint
Her scars are her pain
The scars are memories of the words that hurt
Past reminders of a cruel world
She smiles
Picks up the blade
Tears still fall, but the smile is real
Blood flowing from her wrists
The pain is too great
Another angel falls from grace
I am the wind that blows your hair
I am the sun up the summer sky
I am the water that flows in the spring
I am the brightest amongst the stars

Again I saw them grieve at the grave
A nice speech the eulogist gave
Oh dear friends, weep no more
For if anyone should ask
I am not there...
I did not die!!!
 Sep 2014 Shaima Al-Marzouqi
Liam
I must know...

the smell of your blowing hair
   in the leaf-strewn autumn wind

the touch of your hand on my chest
   closely held in a sleepy winter bed

the sight of your eyes lit with wonder
   for the beauty of spring's first flowers

the sound of your voice calling my name
   through a window from a summer garden

...and as the cycle renews...

the taste of your fertility
   under the cover of a harvest moon


...there simply aren't enough seasons
to gain a complete sense of all that you are
desire has no mercy
like a red morning light
tickling your feet
it has me transparent
it has me transformed
into roar, thunder, wave
or quicksand in your hands
till the air in between
is fully charged,
radioactive
and insane
I am not lonely today
The trees are shivering
The skies are weeping
With me
Nature is having
One lazy dream
And we're all stuck in it
Equally suffering.


F.Z.N
I wanted to fly
Beyond imagination
So I slept
And never woke up again.


F.Z.N
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