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Maja Jun 18
Goodness comes not from your heart, which is an *****,
but from the memories and choices, you chose to do
Not from the heart as some say. The heart is merely an ***** that everyone has. Both bad people, and good people. Having a heart does not make you a good person.
Doing good deeds for the good of people makes you a good person.
Annie Mar 9
I had a dream
Leaping stone to stone
Above a stream
Beneath me faces
Of the dead and old
Around the mist
Of the silent cold

I ran from place to place
Enflaming candlelight
Step by step along
A never ending staircase
Arriving on the top of
A tower, left alone

Haunted by a wooden rockinghorse
I threw down marble stone

By which I made a sacrifice
To fires burning bright
That saved me with its blazing flame
Within this bitter night

(And when I woke I saw it clear
As morning sun after a storm
My memories I couldn't bear
Still stuck in me like roses thorns)
A dream I experienced after assisting my first ***** donation.
Heidi Franke Feb 22
The liver
Is a mother
It takes in the bad stuff
of the body
    (the **** that no other *****
No other person wants)
Clean things up
Sometimes, the liver fails
But, it can grow new tissue too
Mother's are resilient
So, ya see,
"it is always something"
Written during my son's mental health crisis. Reminding myself there is always a way to turn something around into a positive. Usually.
annh Nov 2019
'Now, make sure you've sterilised those instruments well. I want no complications with this one,' I say to my rookie assistant.

I carefully lay out the gleaming stainless-steel blades and check that all is in order. We're waiting on a last minute ***** donation to complete the procedure and although the timing is unorthodox, I'm confident of success. The pleural resection should be reasonably straightforward. If anything, it's the closure that bothers me...and the possibility of problems further down the line.

From outside comes the sound of a vehicle screeching to a halt. Then the kitchen door bursts open. 'Mommy, Mommy, we got it! The last one.' My six-year old holds the bag of chicken giblets up triumphantly. I smile at my father as he appears with the rest of the Thanksgiving groceries and passes them to my son. 'Right, so who's going to help me stuff this bird?'

A flash fiction piece for all of you celebrating Thanksgiving today. :)

'Thanksgiving Day is a jewel, to set in the hearts of honest men; but be careful that you do not take the day, and leave out the gratitude.'
E.P. Powell

'The funny thing about Thanksgiving, or any big meal, is that you spend 12 hours shopping for it then go home and cook, chop, braise and blanch. Then it's gone in 20 minutes and everybody lies around sort of in a sugar coma and then it takes 4 hours to clean it up.'
- Ted Allen, The Food You Want to Eat: 100 Smart, Simple Recipes
Ava Courtney Sep 2019
If our heart is the strongest muscle
Then why does it break so easily?

The strongest ***** has open wounds.
It's dripping with pain.

Once again
It's broken and bruised.

Our acidic love is burning.
Through the flesh
Im screaming in pain

Every scar of the past
Is ripping with regret

There's poison in my veins.
The antidotes missing

My hearts beating the blame
And pumping out shame

The ache,
The pain,
The hurt,
Is just another
Toxic mistake
Ruthlessly destroying my heart
it's an *****
that we can do without
but most of us
have it still hanging about

were you to look
a bit left of the liver
you'd see this *****'s
plum red sliver

if it gets torn
much blood will spill
from its sack's  
gushing rill  

by golly Francis
verbalizes a lot
she's always
ranting on the spot

glean and keen
rhyme with it
that is a hint
to its kind of kit
Andrew Rueter Mar 2019
I don’t want to live as a loner
So I become an ***** donor
Words compose my heart
I develop into art
That I impart
To those looking for blood
And those looking for love
While both push me in mud
Until my insides are no more
Through the divide I soar
To implore for the end of war
But the world keeps turning
Like the people lying on gurneys
Who’s depression has them hurt me
So I try to give them my eyes
To keep them alive
But much to my surprise
They say they want to die
When the whole point is to survive
So I offer them my legs
To help move them ahead
But they just lie in bed
Wishing they were dead
So I offer my exhausted lungs
To help them breathe
To climb the ladder’s rungs
So they’ll be set free
But they don’t want my disease
And prefer to wither in the breeze
On a time killing spree
Lamenting the life they lead
To me it’s kind of funny
If I offered drugs or money
They’d be jumping like bunnies
But instead they hunt me
For telling them what they don’t want to hear
That they’re the driver and they must steer
So I offer them my ears
That ignore their fears
But since it’s not what they want
They claim I tease and taunt
Saying I’m giving them lip
Without the quips
Just the whip
In my insensitive grip
But I’m trying to give away my brain
To block the reality show refrain
That numbs their pain
Making them empty and hollow
My shell of a body will soon follow
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