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Eden Quinn Feb 17
The mud-covered hands on that little body
trying to reach the iridescent blackberries.
And the clumsy tries
which directly grabbed the sharp thorns,
caused burning pain and red fluid
dripping out of slim fingertips.
"But I want them soooo bad",
the little figure whine while
stretching it´s legs until they started hurting.
Salty tears poured down it´s cheeks,
down it´s chin - and then -
onto the red fluid on it´s fingertips.
Sitting in the dark, licking it´s fingertips,
the figure tried to reach them again,
mixing red fluid, sticky spit, the juice of
squeezed blackberries and
the strongest ambition known to humanity.

If reaching blackberries was worth so much pain,
then why is nothing anymore?

I grew up in a little valley and every summer I used to collect all the blackberries. Even though my fingertips always ended up pink-reddish because of the thorns and my clumsy tries, it was so much fun.
Now, that I´ve been diagnosed with (social) anxiety, depression and bulimia, I really want to turn back time.
Phoebe H Feb 2018
When I think of you
I taste blackberries
The kind you pick as a kid
And put in a wicker basket
Crimson juice dripping
Onto the clover below
Kenzie Magdalene Aug 2017
Dark and twisted fantasies swirling in the back of our minds like a lost kite,
We are all programmed to desire the bitter taste of chaos,
to fall in love with the rush of sin.
Our whole world and existence is molded by the act of sin, we would be nothing, we wouldn't be who we are without it.
We have the freedom and the curse of following our hearts,
we have the freedom of acting upon the things we know aren't right in that moment.
You have the freedom to question what actually is right.
This is what it truly means to feel alive.
The heart wants what the heart wants
and your brain is just smashed blackberries in between your fist and you don't care about the stains as it drips on your carpet.
You know what you're doing is "wrong" but you do it anyway because it feels so ******* good, even better than drugs and love itself.
You're lost in the moment, time doesn't exist.
You rip the wings off a butterfly and place them on your skin, infatuated by it's glittering beauty and how it feels against your moving chest.
You can observe the pattern more clearly and notice what you couldn't see while you were too busy ripping apart the fragile wings for your own amusement.
You realize what you have done and you scream until your glass lungs shatter and your tears become stones in your hands,
You get on your hands and knee's and scrub the carpet raw trying to get the stain out but it only smears and fades.
You place the stones on top of the stain
and hope that nobody will notice,
that they won't say a word,
that they'll keep on walking by without a glance.
Eventually, someone will lift the stones
and will see the mistake that you have been trying so desperately to hide.
cait Apr 2017
dripping in your love
i find myself licking each finger
and savoring the sweetness.

your approval tastes like chamomile,
blackberries, and melted icecream.
the taste of you is even sweeter.

to be here
drenched in your affection
is the most saccharine dream
i could ever hope to imagine.
Chris Neilson Aug 2016
I noticed blackberries in my hedge
juicy, ripe and ready for picking 'em
ran for something to put 'em in
don't want anyone else nicking 'em

Washed 'em, rinsed 'em, put 'em in a bag
had a notion to freeze 'em
sealed 'em in a freezer bag
labelled 'em and dated 'em

When my mam next makes a pie
she'll have 'em then defrost 'em
no one makes blackberry pie as good as my mam
when she bakes 'em, she should sell 'em

We sloppily drop our "th's" round our way
if you see other poets, don't tell 'em
Where I live in Northern England, people don't live in our neighbourhood, they live "round our way". i,e "yes, I know Dave Smith, he lives round our way"

Extremely enjoyed picking up forest strawberries

among quiet zephyrs.

Imagined     by     Impeccable Space~Poetic Love
Kindest                      Memory
Maja Sabljak Jun 2015
Somewhere, in the sleeping corners of the Universe
You eat my heart, raw
Removing the sticky traces from the lips
With your teeth
And catching stray drops of juice with your tongue.
With red fingers you touch my eyes
You crush them
Like blackberries and absorb them inside of you.
You bite my thighs,
Sprinkling them with cinnamon and melt in your throat.
You swallow me
Gradually, with seeds
Wiping your fingers on my cheeks.
Do you know that?

You have no ******* idea.
Just *******.
Ariel Baptista Jun 2014
Bike basket full of blackberries

As I ride back

Bleeding fingers

Scraped wrists

Dark juice in the corners of my lips

It was beautiful how they clung to one another

How the protected each other

How they shared.their.thorns.

Was it wicked of me to have picked them?

Or should I have picked more?

Dark tears in the corners of my eyes

Torn thighs

Broken nails

As I ride back

Bike basket full of blackberries
Wass Apr 2014
The wild blackberry
plume bursts,
effervescent under briar
and brambles,
brilliant indigo and magenta prior.

We picked the posy
and sweet fruits
which scalloped along the ditch
until our baskets were full and rich.

The bronzey leaves quiver gently
but do not fall
however thick thorns plenty
tear our long skirts
and scratch our pasty legs.

Stained with dirt
And blood and mud
We skip home through thyme.
Through our childhood as
The blackbirds caw.

— The End —