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Delia Grace Jan 2020
It is me
that is destined to
be spilled across
the muddy ground.
It can be
no one else’s pelt
that warms your foyer.

Did you hunt me yourself?
Or did you find me
as I left myself
take me in
and dub me your ****?
Tell yourself it counts,
an accidental shot.

Stretch your toes
on my back
as you sip your morning coffee.
Beat me in the garden
in the spring air.
Choke on the filth
I’ve collected.
Breathing slowly
falling deeply
and somewhere out there
In the silent world
in this dark blue sky.
my eyes looking joy
somewhere we left behind.
In my moment of despair,
All I am thinking of is to go home
Wanting to end the suffering
Screaming from the inside
and wanting to broke the silent
from the outside
I am crushing in between these things
There were scattered
here and there in our heart
but there is too much solitude all around
my lips cannot utter a single word
Only my eyes speaking
Why... What... How..
Trying to seek any answers
Still none
The best option is moving forward
Bearing all weights in shoulder
Still Waiting for the scythe of death
So that I can go home
Night remain quiet,
no sound No move, 
No focus.No sight.
I've stepped out
and no one even knows
I wonder where I am* ...
Michaela Sep 2014
The rain fell down with half its might;
trying to smite the flowers.
But the bed was merely lodged,
The rain used half its power.
There was nothing could be done,
The rain could not pretend.
The flowers waited for the sun
To lift them up again.
It's basically a personal allegory in which I reference Lodged by Robert Frost, because I really relate to that poem.

— The End —