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there's a battle going on inside my mind
i dont know what is real
i dont know what thoughts are mine
constant gunfire
everything moving except for time
the casualties are high
i gather and lay our dead in a line
my brain is bleeding
its turning more sour than a lime
i'm going insane
trying to replace what i can't find
Paul Idiaghe Oct 10
here, time is a truck
with waxed wheels. but it
keeps pacing, keeps paving the path
to destruction; in dreams, I pluck

myself from its sheath, let it sweep
over me like a tide; on the
ground, I gather my garments,
as stones and seashells, slip

into their ethers, where eternity
waits. here, pyramids don’t converge
as they taper; they tunnel
like a lair that has lost its lucidity

& I’m wandering within their walls,
clueless, clouded—a captive child
eager to escape into enlightenment,
or another dream, where bliss befalls.

this is a paper-dream gobbling
reality—down to its
bone, bruised bare & bleeding.
Anastasia Oct 1
Open your mouth
Let me see your tongue
Tell me how it tastes

Is it sweeter
Seeping with blood
Cut at the tip

Trace the edge
With the knife
Make it taste

Like me

Hold out your hand
Let me see your fingertips
Tell me how they feel

Are they smoother
When they’re slick
With saliva

Trace my skin
With your tongue
Make it soaked

With blood
Piyush Sharma Sep 22
This clueless hill I'm climbing  upon,
Tiring everyday but a new hope by every dawn.
Bleeding freely for the renaissance,
Hoping there for a better ambiance.
Ready to proffer everything I've got for the better...
She sits atop a hill,
the brown stone Goddess

She squats and part her legs,
the yoni splattered with red,

No cloth, no pad, no shame
a wild wild woman untamed,

Her vermilion melts, and drops and paints,
her forehead to her yoni,

The blood feeds earth
melting the hearth,

The red of life,
preserved in a menstrual cup

From the kumkum to bindi to choori to saree,
she a woman deliquescing in red,
A saga of India revering the goddess of *******.
Isabella Sep 8
The slicing sting of the blade as it strokes my skin
Is not pain
But relief
From the raw bleeding within.

The draining drips of crimson as it drowns the floor
Is not unsettling
But reassuring
Compared the truest stomachache of all.
Robert L Sep 1
Inspection leads some men
to brief resurrection,
But that course can also
lead to a defection.

There’s often some needing,
for a frenzy of feeding,
When we seek to feast,
on an ego that’s bleeding.

Is it real or some mirage,
lost in forest or garage?
So many casualties of truth,
how can we triage?

And this is that place
too well we all know,
that if you disagree
well that’s just your ego.

And right or wrong
you must submit,
Or be tossed from the circle
a dishonorable ****.

How is it we can be so blind,
to not see we are of a kind.
Who run about with desperate shouts,
without a mindful mind.

In the dark I see a wraith
Perhaps a remnant of our faith,
Ephemeral and tinged with rust
Forgotten father of our trust.

I’m not speaking here to thee,
what’s this paradox I see
But you said that, no I did not,
Oh, what a travesty!

Walk a mile in my shoes,
see for yourself what you may lose,
Perhaps you’ll find the fit so right
that it awakes you in the night.

And there you’ll lie and toss and turn,
amidst the loss amidst the burn
Oh, sad child who would not learn
Please say a prayer for me.
Ayodeji Oje Aug 17
You bear the pain as if in labour room
Breath takers of all shades savour the ray
As you bleed like a wild dam
We are as cruising birds
As in dripping swift departure
Lies the glowing of man's cosmos
This is the agony of a candle.
Ingram Aug 15
Uncensored thoughts
Bleed from my pen
as your name marks the paper
yet again.
Luna Maria Aug 7
slowly the words
stopped forming
under my bleeding hands
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