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I've known heartbreak too,
Though few who know me know it,
Longed for it to end.

I've heard the sweet call,
Whispered in my ear at times,
For self-oblivion.

But it always passed,
Too many unfulfilled dreams,
I could not let die.

Though not a young girl,
I still can relate to pain,
That's too hard to bear.

They bring tears of blood,
Young colleagues' words with the pain,
They struggle to bear.

Doing themselves harm,
To escape the greater pain,
Of their precious lives.

I beg you each, please,
Put down the knife, syringe, pipe,
No answers in them.

The answer's in you,
In that hidden spark buried,
Beneath all the pain.

Incredible YOU!
Unique, in the multiverse,
No other like you.

No one with your skills,
No other voice quite like yours,
To sing us your truth.

Boundless potential,
Still a tiny, precious seed,
Waiting to take root.

Life's fetid manure,
With tears of joy and sorrow,
Will help you to bloom.

The spark in your heart,
Will burst into flame in time,
Through your poetry.

Purifying all,
The specters and dark shadows,
That now haunt your nights.

Look in the mirror,
Beyond the scars and tear tracks,
To that ember's glow.

And know you will bloom,
And your mighty bows will bear,
The sweetest of fruit.
As is usual for me this piece was written in one sitting and is largely stream of consciousness focused on poems I've read recently by young poets, I believe mostly young women, about cutting and other forms of hurting oneself in response to pain one cannot deal with. Some are beautiful, powerful pieces. All break my heart and make me feel completely powerless--other than to make an encouraging comment I know will mean very little. I've always dealt with my own pain through music and poetry. I don't know how else to reach out. Unseen tears mean nothing to those in pain. If only they could see themselves through the eyes of those in their lives who can see deeper than the reflection in the mirror. If only. . .
Crow Mar 3
nothing hurts me
like your pain
Her Spark
His Bliss
Her Smile
His Peace
Her Grace
His Muse
Her Vibes
His Spur
Her Future
His Dream

Her Goal
His Goal
And they call it eclipse
Genre: Romantic Observational
Theme: Less is more
the only thing that puts me to rest
is knowing that we are looking up at the same constellations
and sitting underneath the same moon
you, me, the moon, and the stars
Äŧül Nov 2016
Gia
Daughter of an American restaurateur,
She breathed in fashion's golden age,
On the ramp, she was hot like wildfire.
A playgirl, she likely broke a million hearts,
Prancing on a hundred beds in her life,
Of course sharing with hundreds her arts.
Also engaged in doing drugs just so often,
Not caring even a bit about the sterility,
Oh, how she shared syringes and needles.

*Be successful - but never ever like her.
Gia Carangi (born on January 29, 1960) was one among the USA's first commercially successful supermodels.

She died of multiple AIDS-linked disorders on November 18, 1986 (aged just 26).

She probably got AIDS from her substance abuse and the improper sharing of non-sterile needles if not exactly due to unprotected casual ***.

HP Poem #1240
©Atul Kaushal
Captain Trips Aug 2014
Another blank page serenade
Another night lost in memories
Your Valentine's Day agenda
Had time in it for me

Another bomb hitting my chest
Another fire I'm struggling to extinguish
All I can do is be here for you
But maybe you'll never be back

And I need to be prepared for that

— The End —