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Abi Winder Aug 31
i’m preparing for a funeral that isn’t meant to happen yet.

i dig a grave
and carve a stone.

i’m not dead yet.
but i feel like i am dying.

it will save them doing this
when i am gone.

it is easier to prepare for a funeral that hasn’t happened yet.
than one you didn’t think you’d have to prepare for at all.
Danielle Mar 2022
Here we are again, in my darkest night,
I’ve never escaped
I thought the last stretches of a pitch-black pool did not  reach me.

Should I be happy on the crescent carving my brokenness?
you said how beautiful the glimpse of the moonlight is,
they have been a prosaic, silvery dust in dismal,
but now, they are a rare light in the sky.

I adore things that aren’t mine
and so you are,
I held an illusion in my desperation, and it wasn’t the universe's fault for sculpting an embodiment of galaxies and stars, such ethereal like you were living in a myth.

You can be there and begone or just begone
(your mercurial imperative) but this time, I wanted to be left on the traces where you were at.
As we take our first breath
We are handed a tool
Given to us by the creator of the universe

It never leaves our hand
Although we cannot see it
Or feel it
We can sense it

Some are meant to change people
Into better or worse humans

Some are meant to carve the world
Into the place we love or hate

Some are meant to give us hope
Which without we would fall

Some are meant to teach us
What we would never know, other-wise

Some are meant to strengthen us
To become who we really are

Some are meant to save us
Before we disappear

And some are meant to destroy
The better humans we are
The world we love
The hope we stand upon
The knowledge we know
And the strength we lean on

Which tool is in your grasp?
eli Jan 2020
words scrawled across my skin
words that i cant read
only feel
they carve themselves into my flesh
a constant reminder that they are there
and i am nowhere

and even though i cant take the pain from the words
the pain will fade
it always does

until there are more words to be carved
printed into my skin,
never to be forgotten
but not quite remembered
Cameron Oct 2019
Your words glide
Over my
Heart like a
Skater skates
On ice lakes.

Slowly you
Wear me down;
Carve your words
Onto my
Heart with blades.

One time you
Will cut through
And fall in
Through the crack
That you made.

You will try
To climb out,
But you are
Stuck in the
Void with me.

Now you'll know
Just the harm
That a few
Words can cause.
Can't you tell?
The uncertainty
Is killing me

No plan
For my path

No stone
To carve

No road
To ride

Lost at sea
No light house to guide me
Aaron E Dec 2018
We're loose associations.
Brutality queues the phrases.
Reality loses luster,
in fallow with boot to daisies .

Cowering and embracing
our trusted tomes,
honing a fruitless joke,
that only touches on tones that suit the layman

Famous and clueless faces.
Racing to rue the cadence.
Faking a sweet embrace,
for imminent tears, but grew impatient.

California coos
sooth impostor fits,
but it's a syndrome
fifty shades dense,
and way to thick to fit the staples.

In case you were getting wayward;
our guiding fables,
sentinels that they are,
will guard the stables
and bark orders,
pouring out the spirits
and clearing history,
with brazen logic.
Honestly,
I carved a broken heart,
instead of tapping the maple,
sue me.
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