#blood poems on Hello Poetry

William A Gibson 3d

You staggered through the double doors,
a trail of red on bleached-out floors.
The night was humming, wet and mean,
your busted life in Trauma Green.

I clamped your vein, soft as thread,
and dared the gods to count their dead.
You lay there broken, no ID,
just blood and ache and urgency.

Your heart fell still inside my hand,
as if it paused to understand.
Then breath returned in stuttered moans.
your chest arched up to meet my own.

The wound was sealed. Your sigh came slow.
You could have left. You didn’t, though.
The sweat still clung. Your gaze went slack.
You pulled the gown and turned your back.

I saw you later, checkout nine:
frozen dinners, boxed red wine.
You seemed like someone death forgot,
barely awake, missing the plot.

You looked right through. You didn’t know
the hands that pulled you from below.
You don’t remember. I can’t forget
how thin the stitch, how deep the debt.

Deleted scene from short story.

#trauma #memory #rescue #loss #grief #hospital #blood #silence #intimacy #debt

Soul 4d

The Earth will be?

The Lake of Woes
brimmed with crimson blood,
as darkness stirs
in the kingdom of the dead...

Answer my question please...
Is the future of our mother green earth going to be this?

#future #earth #blood

Peter Balkus Jul 10

Mosquitos

Let them drink this blood
from the river of your body.

This river is endless,
it's only you who is scared of drowning.

Let them **** the thirst,
don't you know how it feels to be thirsty?

Let them take what it's theirs,
don't be too ****** selfish.

#mosquitos #blood #selfish #drink #nature

Abbott J Hardison Jul 9

Rebel Red

My blood is rebel red,
So if I bleed,
They can't keep me down.

I stay strong,
Running till I see the sun.
Back against a cliff,

This isn't the time to slip.

When your heartbeat rises, you know you're fighting for the right thing. When the things you love are safe, you know you're done. But when you battle the sunset, you've never won.

#rebellion #red #blood #battles #cliff #slipping

Fathima Valliyangal Jul 2

The Blood

When the Red Death held sway over us all
There is no pain
There is no remorse for life
Only blood flowing down lucidly
And don’t you see?
The blood is my haven
And I seek refuge in it
Every time

When he jumps off the 13th floor
Does he feel the wind
Freeing him
Or does he see blood oozing out
As his flesh slumps in it
Like a sleeping infant?
And he seeks refuge in it
Every time

When he cut his ear
Did the blood rush to his head
Or hands first?
Did he pour it into a cup
Or let it speak lazily?

Do you bathe in the very blood
That forms you
Or eat yellow paint instead,
Van Gogh style?
Do you let the waves brush you
Or build another door
That doesn’t tower over you?
Do you let the shadows watch you
Or do you sip your drink
And wait for all your hallucinations
To come alive?

And don’t you see?
The blood is my haven
And I seek refuge in it
Every time

A surreal confessional about refuge, death, and the body as myth. It lives in red.

#blood #mental #health #death #confessional #raw

Kngblaq Jun 30

𝔹𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟

Heavy is the head that wears the crown,
A crown of blood, of love, of frown.
He fights the demons, in and out—
Such is the man who soars with doubt.

Provider, Protector, Pontiff, King—
Each role a weight, a stinging sting.
The price is steep, the path is grim,
It strips the soul and hardens him.

Parallel lives now blur the norm,
Behind calm eyes, a quiet storm.
Smiles conceal the tears they hide —
Each man must pay, with self and pride.

"Be bold," they say. "Be strong. Be brave."
Yet none can see the toll it gave.
The pain, the shame, the silent cries—
That is all that is left when honor lies.

In mirrors cracked by time and years
He sees a face he can not revere.
A man of strength, yet worn and torn,
By battles fought since he was born.

And still he walks, though limbs may shake,
For others’ peace, his own he will break.
A living myth, a silent vow —
But who will crown the weary now?
~Kngblaq

The struggles of young man trapped between love and family

#poetry #poet #fear #struggles #crown #love #family #blood

B Jun 23

The Phantom

Phantom drops of blood
Rolling down my leg
I feel it getting closer
To my knees and ankle true
What ever will I do
When the phantom reaches ground
And spreads it all around
That I am not unwell
But too far now to tell
It's not the pain I long for
But that phantom drop of blood
To make my legs sore
You do not sneak a peak
Without feeling that drop
Rolling down your body
Never will it ever stop
For the scars do not disintegrate
Only the blood

#selfharm #cutting #blood #hurt #addiction #pain #scars

Marlene Bailey Jun 22

Petite chanson d’un cœur brisé

Let me paint you a picture.

Red glasses filled with empty words.
Mirrors that don’t catch your reflection.
Blue and white lilies covering the floor—a floor I once knew.
It is the same floor I spend half of my days crying on.

There’s music.
Music filling the voids of an empty space where my heart was supposed to be.
It resonates through every cavity, through every bone, but my dead soul cannot hear it.
The blood is no longer running through my veins,
And my lips—once filled with love and affection—are as dark as the moment.
How easy is it to die of a broken heart?
Is it really broken? Or am I going crazy while I watch it fall and shatter around my lily-covered floor?

I crawl to pick up the pieces,
And I cut myself on every little bit,
But there’s nothing coming out of my fingers—just the sorrow of a few tears.

Empty.
Empty body, empty eyes, empty mind, empty soul of mine.
Should I remake my heart? Should I get the glue and put it all together again?
Or should I just keep cutting myself with the pieces?

Maybe I should let it be as it is.
There’s beauty in a broken heart.

I wrote this up in the bus on my way to work after hearing “Comptine d’un autre été, l’après-midi”

#red #glass #dead #soul #music #veins #blood #affection #lilies #tears

Marisa Lu Makil Jun 17

Eight, Six, Three, Five.

I was not raised by my sister's mother
Though the same woman raised she and me
I did not live with the same older brothers
Though we lived with the same older three

I was not cared for by the same father
As my sister had caring for her
The same person, he was, but I guess that's different
She had softness and I felt his burns.

I did not live in the same home as she
Though we both grew up on Fallow Street
I guess we're all changed by the parents we have
And more by the parents we meet

I did not have my sister's childhood
Hers seemed very soft to my eyes
While mine was a horror, tragic and bleak,
I fought very hard for my prize

My sister was raised in a different house
Different parents had she
We both grew up with the same people
But both had different families

As I got older, it took long to learn
That though we grew in the same mud,
My blood shared with her is thinner than water
For water is thicker than our blood.

The same two people raised my sister and I–JK and BK. We have the same brothers, P, N, and J. But I was raised with a mother who didn't understand me and a Father who didn't want to. She got the parents who had learned from raising me and decided to try harder with her. I got the brothers who should have protected me and all three failed to do so. She got the brothers who would have done anything for her. I love my family. I love who they are today and I am learning to love myself as well. But some days, it's so easy to remember how things were–they should have protected me. The five of them should have been my protection, but instead I had to learn to hide who I was and what horror lay beneath my smiling exterior because I had to protect myself since no one else would.
I love my family. I am fortunate to have three brothers who love me, a sister who is trying to love me, and parents who are trying to learn who I am now. It's just hard to remember my fortune when it's stained with the memories of the people I shouldn't have needed to mistrust. I should have been able to rely on them, and it still hurts no matter how much or how often I have forgiven them. I still remember.

#mother #sister #brothers #father #damage #pain #blood #depression #growingup #water

marci Jun 18

i want it dead

i want it dead, the wait, the ache
the breath i lose each time i wake
but the hope just rots and curls
and sinks beneath this ******* world

i want the "maybe" set on fire
the silence hung on razor wire
i want the dreams to come to life
the "someday" slaughtered with a knife

i want the future we won't hold
to freeze and crack and die in the cold
i don't want to play pretend
i want it dead. i want the end.

i don't want the wound that distance makes
the soul of us that daylight breaks
i don't want to play pretend
i want it dead. i want the end.

#blood #violence #emotions #death #thoughts