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Being branded with shame
        While it still boils in my blood
Leaves me with cold fingers
        And vice-gripped lungs.
lua Oct 4
i stand at the pedestrian crossing
white parallel lines aged by rubber
i wait for another person
and i cross

my brain goes white with parallel lines
i stop
in the middle of the street
for a second

sometimes i wish a car would
take me then
sometimes i wish a truck would
knock me out
is it worth the trauma
of gradeschoolers?
is it worth the clean up of city hall?
and how would they portray me?
a suicidal maniac who gets people in prison?
or merely an idiot with nothing better to do
other than cause chaos?

scene of the crime
outlined in white chalk against
white parallel lines
brain matter splattered on an SUV's windshield


they can't find my eyes.
tumbledry Aug 26
The screech of your brakes
And the beep of your horn
As you try to avoid the head on collision.  
Too late. No room to escape.
A crash. Some airbags. Hospital fluorescent bulbs.
And the guilt.
The shame of it all being your fault.
Then acceptance.
Life is hard.
And changes in an instant.
My fault. My fault for existing but if it wasn’t me he would’ve hit someone else. So I guess that’s something.
Slipped over on the ice
she is languid in repose
mourned only by the howling wind
and the wings of flapping crows
neth jones Jan 23
c o n t a c t
up-stairs roof-top
toe-tips the-edge long-drop
flourish/ball-lightning echo-foxtrot
plunder/of the gods/thunderous once more
glance-down and it’s merry-go-round
vertigo      lost - and - found
you shout my name
c o n t r a c t
impact   cement
face-torn to shape a smile
laugh      'after a while crocodile'
; the last witty thought my mind does attract
devil  pact         and  the  gravity
mortally  i n v e s t e d
arrested     now
c o n t a c t
Randy Johnson Dec 2022
When I fired my gun at a criminal, I accidentally shot an innocent bystander.
I made a horrible mistake, I was supposed to shoot someone else than her.
The person who I accidentally shot was only eighteen years old and I killed her.
The guilt I feel is too much to bear and I resigned, I'm no longer a police officer.
When I shot and killed that girl, it was a horrible accident, I did not mean to do it.
Even though the police academy trained me not to make such a mistake, I blew it.
I shed tears every single day because I feel remorse.
My wife can't take it anymore, she's getting a divorce.
My wife constantly told me to get over it but she was beating a dead horse.
I ruined my life, I've lost my wife and I had to resign from the police force.
When I accidentally shot and killed that girl, it was a tragic thing to do.
If you're a cop, I pray that what happened to me doesn't happen to you.
Jake Devlin Dec 2022
Fear of wounds from the past
A broken man unearthed once again
Fear of unending convalescence
Stemmed from the spine of circumstance
Lingering pain of mistakes made in youth
Physical nightmares
Please forgive me, my corporeal self
My judgement was clouded
And now I am the better man
That I should have been back then
People say I'm lucky that I still breathe
A part of me died that day
They should of left me there, beneath the trees
Elizabeth Kelly Jan 2022
From the beginning:

It’s a new year and I quit my job
**** it, I’ll never be good at serving
Directionless in 2013
It’s unusually warm.

Your presence in the room is a rock in my shoe
You’re so cool
And I’m a mess.
Remember, you called me Heather in bed?
And I made you go home?
I forget.

Now we’re crossing the street
For your birthday, it’s your birthday,
Makers Mark, count ‘em, 2 ounces at a time.
Stacked up like unread texts and why don’t you like me’s
I don’t remember
But I’m probably crying

Flash in to outside
God it’s like 60
Deciding to go with you
Asking you to kiss me

(I had a long term boyfriend in my 20s
And his mother would buy me toilet paper for Christmas
The gift of hindsight is kind of like that:
Practical and helpful and a ****** of a gift)

Today is 9 years to the day
My parents know and they’re on their way
The nurse thinks I might be paralyzed
11 broken bones and two black eyes

This is the end of the beginning
Which is the easy part
I’ve never been able to write it all down
Spin it into art

Be warned, I can’t guarantee poetry
From a patched-but-still-leaking heart.
Part one of a multi (tbd) part series detailing the drunk driving accident that derailed my life in 2013 and the convoluted and ongoing recovery process.

I have attempted to process this event through a whole swath of creative means, never very successfully. It eludes me. I humbly request patience, as this is a healing exercise. Thank you so much, and may you find peace where it grows.
Erian Rose Nov 2021
Last summer
our days sped by us
like Faris wheel highs
swept beneath sidewalk alleyways.
We traveled the world
in our little neighborhood of dreams;
a hand to hold so close
yet miles away in words.
We found the best
out of emptiness,
heartening our comfortable silence.

We found each other on accident
two summers ago from June,
hopscotched in one-night walks
on a bus going nowhere fast.
By then, we barely knew
how far the universe would take us
in a matter of months.
Now, all I can think about
is how to comprise your heart flutter
the same way your smile and cosmos
composed mine.
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