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Michael Stefan Mar 2020
Tiny sliver of wood
placed in accident
beneath fingernail
or under skin
stings greater
in the moment
than gunshot or knife.
For a splinter
always pokes
at our carelessness
and pierces straight
our most useless
*****: pride
Mystic Ink Plus Sep 2019
आज काललाई जितियो
कसो उसले बिताएको

चार चक्के दानव
शैली : प्रयोगात्मक
विषय:अझै धेरै छ हेर्न, लेखेको कस्ले पो टार्छ र ?
Aa Harvey Jul 2019
Left for dead.


Rocket on the floor; dead men in a war.
When you hear the call, come prepared to fall.
Picture on a door shows the face on the dart board,
Through which the injured will soon walk.
Blood on a wall;
You have been here before.


Ghost in the night at last has found its sight by misdesign.
The ghosts disappear in the morning light.
Pocket on a leg, left there to forget.
Written on a tissue in lipstick red.
Numbers to regret, words I never said.
All those people you left for dead.


A soldier talking about peace is an oxymoron;
Put down your weapons of misfiring neurons.


(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Àŧùl May 2019
I dislike referring to it as my accident,
'Cause of so many reasons and losses,
I just can't stop resenting the accident.

I lost my memory & I'm still fighting,
'Cause I first had to relearn speaking,
I retrain my legs – train for balancing.

The brain injuries even made me forget how to swim,
I miss swimming elegantly for long time stretches,
It's not something anyone would usually forget.
My HP Poem #1742
©Atul Kaushal
an aviary Apr 2019
dumbed down by the evening
exhausted little earthling
a simple sufferer in the dirt
darling's never been hit so badly
"little earthling, are you hurt?"
yes, and i hope it's deadly
first letters of the lines spell out "deadly"
Rose Apr 2019
I’m in pain.

Every step that I take
It breaks
My soul
Into pieces
As I watch the things
I love
By the sidelines

Every step is a memory
A flash
To my past
When the only thing
That drew lines together
Were the stitches
That I wished
Had existed
Were the solutions
That I wished
Had saved me

Even as I stand
My weight shifts
Like the soul inside
That shifted from live to survive
That shifted from give to keep
That shifted from grin to weep
That shifts from try to die
Each time
The sun sets
And rises

I use tape
To hold together the pieces
That slide away
To repair
The rips
Within
To change the scars
That failed
To keep me strong
That made my right wrong

I wish I could forget
The days
Where i faded away
Where I looked for a way outside
Instead of a way back in
And out
Of the halfway
Half living
Half dying
Half trying
Half crying
Place I existed

And even today
I can look to live
Or to die
To thrive
Or survive
To grin or weep
To give or keep
To feign or my pain

And its tearing me apart
From the outside in
It makes me feel
Like my life is just sin
And to the person who knows nothing
Who thinks my soul is whole
Not a hole
Who thinks my smile
Isn’t a trial
Who thinks my knees
Stand and don’t buckle
Who thinks my legs are steady
And my head is high
Because I tried
And with pride
I stand
Not because I’d drown if I didn’t

To the person who looks at my mask
But sees my face
I wish you knew
I wish you knew
The trials
I’ve had to face
But I’m glad you don’t
Because you’d see a victim
Not a soldier
You’d see a patient
Not a survivor

So stay in your box
And I’ll stay in mine
And we’ll see
How time
Changes us
We’ll see if I live or die
If thrive or survive
We’ll see which way
My soul shifts
From dark to light
From sun to night
We’ll see who guides the way
The scars in my shoes
Or the stars and the moon
To show me the way
Up or down
Left or right
Sun and day
Or dark and night
Heaven or hell
From poor to well
I will see my way
To the end
Because for any beginning to start
An end must stop.

And so

I’m in pain.
Casey Mar 2019
Today my knee popped again.
For the fifteenth time since it's began.

Skinned palms from breaking my fall.
Again, the hot blade of searing pain.
I hate how these are things I can perfectly recall.

I've sworn myself not to cry;
instead, my body goes into shock.
Screaming as if I were to die.

Catching my breath, the agony is finally over.
I used to be helped up from the ground.
But now, I get the cold shoulder.

In Phy Ed. class, they whispered that it was for attention.
I found that funny, considering I hate that.
And the brace, I would never mention.
Hello? Customer service? Can I get a refund? My knee doesn't seem to be working properly.
Anna Skinner Mar 2019
We sat with a pair of burgers between us,
the Purdue game muted on the big screen.
We talked about high school and
Friday night football and
health insurance and
what it feels like to get hit by a car --
our first date, just five years removed.

You have abstract works painted like satin
in your skin
like scars
in your skin
like memories
like nightmares
like “I wish I would have’s…”

I tease you gently;
you beg me not to work so much
You frown at your plate
swirl your fries in ketchup and
in this, I see fragments of the old you.

I ask if you’re going to church tomorrow,
and you reflect the question
like it’s a challenge
like belief is always shaped with doubt
like even when there’s faith, voices still waiver.

There are still tiny fractures
in your bones
in your voice
in our memories.

There are still raindrops in your eyes
when we talk about high school and
Friday night football and
health insurance and
what it feels like to get hit by a car.

There are still scars in your skin
in your mind
in my heart --
Our first date, just five years removed
I wandered for a moment, surrounded by the white tunnel
In which I smelt the metallic tang from stainless steel
Travelling in the open air.

Glancing, I saw the disarray: nurses dashing in assistance, paramedics charging through the gaping doors with emergency cases
And doctors immersed in the plight to save lives.

I slid a door open,
Discovering an image so brief and profound,
A man, varnished with red, ached as it
Dripped through his hair -
Hesitantly, he settled sideways,
You could see his hurts were spinal.

He had fallen from an engine,
Dragged along the grating metals,
And as he lay, half sentient -
To his bed came a woman,
Who stood and sighed,
Her lips were writhen
As the sun had risen.

How desolate it was,
As she lied near the thundering waterfall of his heart,
Only to realise,
They were on the eve of their marriage.
C P X Feb 2019
Life is suffering, from the tip of my tongue!
From the tongue to the corneas, blinded
To the shoulder, flimsy; to the hips, stretched
To the wrist, bent; to the spine, twisted.
Where does it hurt? Use your
locator beam, Use the satellite, Use the laser
Point to where it hurts, they say, so you point to
your elbow, to your head, to your stomach:
But this, this is deeper, internal, pervasive
it is not imaginary at all, either.
No: no: no more sauce
Rejection after rejection of enjoyment, til
lastly we reject life- but no one ever enjoyed
living this way any way.
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