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Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2018
I do not know why I love the needle
The pain as it enters my skin
I long for the sight of blood bursting into the syringe
Far more than the dangerous drugs contained within
I wrote this right after I got clean and realized how hard it is to go from shooting up three times a day to not at all. I figured it was fitting since today i have been clean off ****** for THREE MONTHS! Everyone out there struggling: you can do it!!!!
Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2018
I love the needle
They call it a "fixation"
I call it friendship
I hate that i am/was addicted to such a self harming object more than the drugs themself. I dont miss ****** at all but i do still think about the thrill of seeing blood fill the syringe. I also had a horrible time hitting a vein so that is probably also part of it.
Jo Barber Apr 2018
Sometimes you hurt like a needle,
sometimes like a knife.
Sometimes I can't bear to look at you.
Sometimes you're all I can look at.
CA Smith Feb 2018
A prickly poke,
a small dose,
of the feeling,
that I abhor the most.

A feeling
of love,
of sorrow,
of when we fell apart.

Yet another needles swoops,
Through the cloth it goes,
and a new ***** to my finger,
I reluctantly accept.

For this needle,
will thread a new life;
a life sewn together with you.
at the urgings of the needle's keen tip*
she'd respond with such a caustic delight
corrosive was its thorniness of quip

on the pointy end being put to conic flight
an outpouring of stinging did rain free
she'd respond with such a caustic delight

never not thinking of the spurring's tee
compelled by a so driven tong's tine
an outpouring of stinging did rain free

yet the rejoinder was not very **** fine
applying her barbing tool time after time
compelled by a so driven tong's tine

browsers saw the regularity of crime
sticking in too much abrasive acid
applying her barbing tool time after time

the mordant seasoning far from placid
sticking in too much abrasive acid
at the urgings of the needle's keen tip
*corrosive was its thorniness of quip
Terzanelle


The Terzanelle is a poetry type which is a combination of the villanelle and the terza rima forms. It is a 19-line poem consisting of five interlocking triplets/tercets plus a concluding quatrain in which the first and third lines of the first triplet appear as refrains. The middle line of each triplet is repeated, reappearing as the last line of the succeeding triplet with the exception of the center line of the next-to-the-last stanza which appears in the quatrain. The rhyme and refrain scheme for the triplets is as follows:

1. A
2. B
3. A

4. b
5. C
6. B

7. c
8. D
9. C

10. d
11. E
12. D

13. e
14. F
15. E

Ending Type 1:

16. f
17. A
18. F
19. A

Ending Type 2:

16. f
17. F
18. A
19. A

Each line of the poem should be the same metrical length.
Panda Boy Nov 2017
I want to see a grown man cry.
Mother doesn’t approve of a psychology course.
Hatred to swallow only to erupt again.
To see all sides of that person
But no one knew.

You can grow like a tree;
Tall and strong,
Old and wise,
But a tree doesn’t go anywhere.
Alpha and Omega,
The vastness of space.
Your life will come to an end;
Don’t let it go to waste.

I give you a smile;
Genuine warmth.
Look at those around you,
Must you curse them?
Instead love them.

A needle can sew,
But it can also *****.
Use that wisely,
Be gentle I say,
Put it to good use.
reel it in. look at it. get it out.
Crafting scissors
Gardening shears
A pizza roller
Instruments of humble vivisection
I wield, I rend, I create.
Needles and pins,
Nimble and thin,
I pierce, I pull, I close.
With measured patience
I choose my weapons:
Ink, passion, time, and wit.
An armory of precision and gut.
Boulders bruise but roll away,
Fire burns, but I'm already ablaze,
Arrows lodge shallow or all fall short,
But the cold?
It slices.
The draining thought:
Is this the end of my creation -
Is there no more?
I slowly bleed out.
10.6.17
Inktober Prompt: Sword
Rules: The poem is whatever comes out of the pen, no edits allowed.
Kewayne Wadley May 2017
Her heart was like the eye of a needle and I the thread.
Stuck between *******, each time I'd get close.
I'd veer too far left or too far right, never in-between.
Nervous in motion A thin thread roped in ambition.
Though I loved her deeply I couldn't get her to see.
No matter how hard I'd try I always missed the loop to her heart.
The cold steel that looped in oval shape.
I've made peace with the thought that nothing lasts forever and though thread.
I've binded myself in knots, wondering if she ever saw me the way that I saw her, everlasting.
Believing that we could be woven in the thickest of bonds.
I loved her with the entirety of my everything I had to give.
Without arms I had nothing to hold above her head.
But no matter how many times I missed her.
Her shoulder became colder and colder.
My thread torn seam from seam.
It wasn't until then that I learned that somethings are better left untouched.
Alex Ranström May 2017
if only i could stitch
this family back with
a needle and thread
we wouldn't be like this
Poetic T Apr 2017
Woven within our madness,

                   the needle of sanity
                          penetrated deeply
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