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trust is something sharp to hold
for someone important
in a perfect world we'd never bleed over one another
chrome blades dig into each person
who lost grip with their loved one
in a perfect world trust would be dull
significance is in the blade
filled inside of the atoms
are the affections, promises and lust we carry
a perfect world is plastic
empty atoms
hollow and dead on the inside contain nothing
I rather take the blade than poison myself
Sharon Thomas May 24
I never want to bleed again;
The way I did before.

For an unrequited love,
That was worth dying for.

The beauty of the rose;
Deceived me,
My love for it,

Thorns pierced through my skin,
With a single touch,
Making its way to my

Thorns that shot poisonous darts;
That lead straight to my heart..

"Oh the torment!"
I cried in pain;

Why was I in agony,
When all I did
was love.
Evolution has chosen jealousy
To be an intrinsic trait for us all
Even at the top of the world,
Novels and songs are written
About how much easier life is
At the bottom of the *****.
Perhaps this is the reason
For the routine poisoning of ourselves
Just for a break from all the monotony
To finally be someone else
If only for an evening.
Drinking and smoking
To celebrate to become
Someone else…
Nobody, in this life, wants to be
16 lines, 241 days left.
like the blood that seeps
through the holes n gaps in my skin
i patch it up
with paper and tape
but what lays underneath
calls every blade to my skin
i try again
to keep it away
but it causes a hunger that's impossible to satisfy
in any other way

but maybe that's a story for another day.
LC Apr 19
a statue quietly lurks
in the corner of my mind,
waiting until all is calm.
when the dark shroud
falls over the blue sky,
the statue comes to life
as a vicious, fang-bearing,
red-eyed, gnarly demon.
the demon pulls a dream apart
with its long, pointy claws,
injecting the shreds with poison
until they tangle up in each other
to become a tight, infectious knot
that can only be waking up.
#escapril day 18!
little lion Apr 15
I drank the poison from your lips,
not realizing that you had already taken the antidote
Martin Boško Apr 12
Hear the Eagle's painful screech
While those with delusions preach
Poisonous tears of rage and sadness
Spineless bow to feed their Madness
Ants drowning in the Sea of Lies
While laughing vultures from East arrive
The Eagle longingly looks towards the heavens
The Eyes intently stare at sheep armed with AK47s
A spectacular clash of two camps with strong will
The Flawed Experiment of a Shining city upon a Hill
Written November 6, 2020 in the chaos before US election results were called
Zoe Mei Apr 2
she wanted
to be loved
without barbs
so much
that when she snatched them up from their cage
she squeezed the life out of them.

she tried to be gentle
smoothed silken wriggling bodies
with light fingers, soft words
but they trembled at her touch
thrashed escape from her grasping hands
even as they dozed in her brother’s palms
so again and again she caught them
by the tails
with sudden fists
round rushing ribs
from huddled corners, piled dens
and held them tighter and tighter to her chest
wishing more than anything they
could be enough to fill her fractured lungs
as if love can be pressed from hearts
like wine from grapes
as if she could drink
without tasting poison

they died young
from her
venomous heart

she buried them under
the loveliest stones she could find.
The knife I take down my throat
To vindicate my thoughts
Of ruinous infection,
Deceives all sensation,
All thoughts, and ceases
To exist myself,
Until the blade conceals,
And the only tell
Of even its unsheathing
Is that of the daylight
Pouring in through
Windows of which
I had forgotten,
To strike the flower
I left out alone in the open.

The scent of the previous day
Made aware though permeation
From the bottles
Left open
To fill the air
With their intention,
But lit candles
Will once again
Flush the awful realization,
As the day sheds colors
To the night,
And when the music hits,
And the temperament
Fills veins with built and bottled-up
Stresses, the candles will smell great
As the chaser takes away the sting
From the blade,
And the flower, unconcealed,
Let without any pressures
Or internal guilt,
Finally able to be myself,
If only for one more night.
38 lines, 281 days left.
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