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Eddie Brewer Dec 2021
the blood drips down my legs
oh my
what have i done this time?
The warm feeling of
the blood leaking
is the worst,
but it's comforting
knowing the blood is real
knowing that I'm still alive.
The blood drips down my legs
Its stings a lot
what happened to the happy
little kid I once was.
"That's okay though"
I whisper to myself
as i close my eyes and
fall asleep.
The blood drips down my legs
My days are gone, wondering,
I am alone,
terrain full of thoughts, lost,
I’m
dying of thirst in the
want of life.
Nothing more to weep for,
I’m dying
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vMTqjQ0cZ8&t=2421s
MJL Oct 2021
It's not your fault
You were created
Made for the rain
Given the hammer
That brings the gold
Use it for the dream
Days will turn to fire
You are burning now
Will you feel the heat
Before it it's too late?


© MJL 2021
Zack Ripley Sep 2021
I know I'm in pain.
But is this pain from living? Or dying?
Is it a punishment for trying to survive?
I'm sorry, I don't have the answers.
But I'll keep looking.
Mark Wanless Sep 2021
the dying gods shout
their displeasure as they fall
into emptiness
Nobody Aug 2021
I welcome the silence
from the middle of the night.  
I was counting on the cover
of darkness,
so there'd be no one to see me
end your life.
I step as slowly as I can
trying not to be loud,
carefully slipping into your room
without making a sound.
I smile as I see you lying
helpless in a dream.
I move closer so I'm right beside you
kneeling on the ground as
I slide my blade out.
I’m inches from your face,
close enough to smell your breath.
I place the cold metal to your neck,
then swing my arm once to the side.
Your blood is black in the moonlight,
gushing all over your clothes.
You wake up and grab your throat,
swallowing blood
you start to choke.
I watch you try and put up a fight.
You squirm, and stare, with dying eyes.
You look me right in the face
as I stick you another time,
in the side right through your heart.
Too bad it took more than one cut
for your body to go limp.
Finally your death has come,
I’m free from the burden of your grip.
Glenn Currier Aug 2021
In the first light of this day
with too little sleep
I am feeling tired and vulnerable
but I have entered the dreams, fears, and pains
of other poets from far and wide
and it seems
we are all growing and dying together
maybe just a little at a time
line by line
these spirits enter me
and assure me I am not alone
in this drift.
I came into our garden room before dawn this morning and read several poems of my friends and fellow poets on this website, the last one (https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4409062/the-yearning/) from Khoi, my South African friend, who seemed to be telling me, in his beautifully poetic way, that some kind of end is near. Lately I have been feeling my age both in body and mind. So this poem is what came out of this sense of angst early this Thursday morn.
Time that is the enemy of purpose,
    Breathing birthing nothing but burden of ageing,
Wasting the time, in shortage, which one regrets
  when wrinkled and disabled,
      Waiting for Grim to release from illness.
Alas, if sleep is the cousin of death,
  This is dying and seeing death coming.
Life is short and making every single an eventful, admirable movie. Never experiencing a dull moment. Merely is impossible. If you can’t prove me wrong.
neth jones Jul 2021
my moat wet eyes
focus free
   with the manner of a poisoned animal
those feedy gemini apertures
    fidget inward
      upon an open wounded view
       unclothing a filmy slick
      so very faithful to the dead


      ripples cross my bed of sails
    i set pale
   in my atrophy
  each signal blunted
i am greatly wilted
sat planted
lazily hazed
a vehicle scuppered

riddles prate at my bed of veils
i set sail
in atrophy
each signal bloated
  fully unloaded
   a barrow at your feet
    i truly wither
     what power may you beam my form ?

      i'm frail in heart
atrophy
     between stars and the sea
   a failed flicker of no pity curses
a matrimony
   all signals mar
and spar out blotting

  a missile
misguided ?
         ; it preys on my trail
misdeeds played a trophy
   a lit penalty
i am most deletable

piteous
        i pray for the guff
to raise my head
filled to the tax of my atrophy
dissipated
oh mother of pigment
      lovingly wigged murderer of woes
  why can't we abstain from human directive ?
        forever foaming something criminal
    flunked corrective of the species rudder
               idle by into an atrophy
      a perishing menace
pungent

                              - fade out
[unclothing a filmy slick
      operation of a darkly mooded spyglass
churning on ! ;
       the search-syphon
inhaling of an unfiltered rough draught
a cyclic experience
revisits prying for a satisfying result :]
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