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It might be said:

When there is the genuine sensation
Of tingling insides, wavering breaths
Then know that I have been moved,
Pulled away from my imagination
Because now, I see you.
I do get nervous at times.
It might be said:

I feel an ache
After passing the verge of a break
And it left a mark.
It left a scar
That paved its path
Deep into my memory,
But it's just the past.
It really does ache.
Daa Rajab Mar 21
It might be said:

Heart trembling,
Aching,
Breaking in the midst of it all.
He lost her
She forgot him,
I stand in the middle, from ear to ear
Listening to twisted voices,
Scratched throats,
And a sea for tears dripping down their eyes
As droplets of water filter down broken drains.
I didn't feel their hearts,
I didn't sense the trembling,
The aching,
The breaking.
I forgot to look in the mirror.
.
CautiousRain Jun 2019
A bitter boy you are,
with twisted words and twisted fangs,
sour lips and ****** knuckles;
boy, you sure do love a good fight.

That's an awful lot of snickering
for a guy who's surely bluffing,
and I'm quite certain you know
as well as I, you're full of ****,
but your tangy hands and acid fingers seem so daunting
when you cast out all your hateful "truths".

I'm torn between all the love and all the hate,
it's inevitable that they'd congeal
into a sordid mixture
and so it was a bitter boy
spoiled.
You know I used to punish myself if I kept talking about him or writing about him, and it's been well over a year since I wrote about this guy instead of someone else, so I figured I won't punish myself if I did it this time.
I was hit with some pretty hard nostalgia the other day about it, and well, it's bittersweet when there's good but so much bad weighing down a past.
Daa Rajab Feb 2019
It might be said:

Tumbling down my treacherous, traitorous tower,
Of hope I thought was the greatest petal of my flower.
Reflecting, refracting,
Revisioning my thoughts
For the hour of my death was a second from naught.

The flower of petals,
Of dazzling, daunting life,
Of elegant, empathetic love…
I never realised all of such would be tough
To truly clench,
Feel,
Hold in my eyes,
When every other petal was crowded with lies
Which confidently smiled and smirked in my face,
Convinced me,
To irrevocably love this life with haste,
To grin at the tower, smoothened with glace.

The flower of formidable life,
Of practical love,
Of transposing colour.
Vibrancy spread by its central, salient stigma.
Of secrets,
Confessions of my imperfection,
My disinterest in life,
In simulated lovers,
In sensual, plastic, flexible hardcovers.

And so I glanced at
The departing turret,
The surreal, realistic, reality of life,
Of people who live,
But do not really live,
For the petal which fell,
Decided never decide to give
Its distinctive love to anybody other
Than the traitorous hand which pulled,
Tore, and Crushed its heart,
And left it to stumble upon its death.

Naught.
He once asked me, "What is love?"
ALC Sep 2018
I see the stares
And I hear the whispers
I look at their faces
Sporting my blisters.

I hear the gasps,
And I see their faces,
And I see the confusion,
As they wonder if I am in pain.
As I lay flat on my back
With air wheezing from my lungs
A smile spreading across my face
And a laugh escaping from my flattened body.

I stand up, ready to fight
As I brace myself for another attack.
We glare at each other,
Sparks in our eyes,
And a grin on our lips
Wondering who will make the first move.

I step forward
And lay on the punches
Ready to receive them right back.
He grabs my arms,
Trying to stop my assault,
But we tumble to the ground
And both start to laugh.

People stare in awed horror
As I take a man to the ground,
And are in shock when I pin him with my knees.
They are gawk as we both stumble up laughing,
And their faces turn white as they see the bruises
That sprout along the length of my body.

I know I am aggressive,
I have never been a gentle girl
Always a warrior at heart
Ready to take down the biggest beasts,
And my bruises and cuts are my battle wounds
That I wear like trophies
Telling stories of my conquered foes
-ALC September 11, 2018
Jon Thenes Sep 2018
I don't understand violence
In the moment it does not come to hand
I do feel violence
I fantasise violence
I fever my brain with panting anger
But
It's a testing station within a fiction
My practices trace other patterns
And these aggressive thoughts are just obstacles
Yet
I pray host
And I know that
I truly am
A violent man

                                - Mr. Sands
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