Dejection holds same weight as an arrow the second it is pierced into the heart.
Before the restricted movement there’s a pause
of uncertainty.
Doubt.
Oscillation comes into play as I fluctuate between fear and acceptance.
I hold my tongue to prevaricate what is already bleeding from my chest.
I yearned for you how flesh craves
to knit itself over a wound.
Ungrateful, I’ll always be.
Mercy was never an option, an arrow to the heart.
Dejection—directly to the chest.
Shall he never know I still bleed for all the right reasons.
For all the reasons I bleed for you.

It's a shame really.... how much paper I've wasted on you.
how many time's I've sat in my room in the late hours of the night replaying everything you did to me.... everything we did to each other.
how I bleed on paper, pouring out the deepest corners of my soul to the only thing that will listen.
still it is a shame how I continue to waste words, paper and ink on you.... how I manifest great sentences to describe how you hurt me.
you don't deserve them, you truly don't deserve anything I've given you, but even after your gone I still manage to sacrifice pieces of myself for you.
I'll sit and waste hour's on something that's supposed to be beautiful.... but you made painful.  
I guess in a way, I hold a pen like you never held me....

It was suppose to be a happy occasion,
I heard

A proud moment
I understood
For every soul linked to me

But I felt the opposite

Felt ashamed

Walking around

Limping,staggering

You could see from miles a way

I was deplicted in every sense

I was a coward I couldn't take the easy way out

So I bleed myself out in a noble way

A way that would allow another being a chance to live

And grant me more suffering

Maybe if I'm lucky my heart might decide to tap out

And I'll get to smile.

They:
Why do you fell for him

She:
The soul that spot my fake smiles,
And stared deep down my turmoiled heart asking,
"Whats that bleeding scar behind your silly play!"

~Varsha Srinivasan

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I already pulled at my hair.
“It’s normal” he says
I swear just to debate,
cause he doesn’t seem to care.

And I’m bleeding through
my scar tissued skin,
the layers only grew
still I find a way in.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I’ll be down to the last strand.
Check or fold the plays,
the cards aren’t that great
I’ll be down the my last hand.

And I’m bleeding through
my thick nice sweater.
It’s a shame as it’s new
and we’re reaching the cold weather.
It will stain the soft fabric
I may just grab the bleach,
but I always made it a habit
to always keep it just out of reach.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate
pretty soon I’ll be bald.
On hot coals she stays,
though she shifts her weight
and watches her soles scald.

And I’m bleeding through
my clogged and blocked pores,
and the remaining few
are becoming septic sores.
I’ll shed another layer
of a non-protective bubble,
and my hair will continue to get greyer,
I think I’m now in some trouble.