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Smoke rises from my blood red lips
My eyes narrow through the haze
A smile plays on my face
And remembrances race through my mind
You, always hated the smell
The rotten smell of dried leaves
The smell that clung to everything
And everyone.
I stub the cigarette out in a cut glass ashtray
Your mother's if I recall
A smile dances and reaches my eyes
My cold blue eyes
Eyes that could express emotion once.
They travel downwards to the floor
They light up once more
Like the eyes of the girl gone before
For there you are, prone, a blood red bloom
Blossoming, in a cigarette smoke filled room.
© JLB
Tiffany Apr 2014
What is there left to say
That you’d left me here for dead
You didn’t expect me to survive
Sorry to say, you’ve been misled

I slowly regained my senses
Letting my rage grow bottled inside
I’ll unleash my fury upon you
There’s no use in trying to hide

I’ll take back what you robbed me
A life filled with bliss
But I’ll do so quietly
I’ll **** you with my poison kiss

Hate does something peculiar
To the human heart
It’s made me shrewd and cunning
I’ll make your death a work of art

When you tried to **** me
You left too much at stake
You didn’t finish the job
But I've learned from your mistake
Rl Apr 2014
The past can make it so easy to relapse

not because of the past itself

but

running away from it

and burying it in the subconscious,

hiding it away and letting it silently

fest fest fest.

Is what causes you to be haunted.

---

Pain;

A raging sore, a deep wound, an eternal scar,

just wants to be felt; acknowledged.

So I try not, to ignore it

when I see the marks of the past; knives

digging into the valves of my heart; pain

even when it comes back

strong and hard and fighting

like a hurricane

carrying me away under water

suffocating the freedom in my punctured lungs

I will not let it destroy me.

—-

Its not because I am weak that I struggle with it

but the brain is strong; be aware...

For thoughts can make you a victim of your own mind

though I hope
there will be a time when

healing, that miraculous God-sent healing is at the end.

When

you stop ignoring the past

and instead start loving those broken pieces, the shame you felt,

the fear that crippled

and realise

it will soon ease, soon melt away, soon diminish

and you’ll remember

**pain has no authority to hurt
Kurt Kanawa Apr 2014
**** me, ***** beasts!
Ravage my mountains
And drain them
—a million mosquitoes on my skin;

Burn me, wooden hearts!
Watch me as I am consumed
By toxic fire
—a million ashes in my eyes;

Choke me, my children!
Rob me of the air of my lungs
With your stranglehold
—a million claws on my neck;

And when you are done
And tired from your *******
I shall cover you in the darkness of your making
And you—
Like a forgotten dream
—shall perish.
Disha Verma Apr 2014
I rise impalpable
from poked and scattered ash.
Memories from the 20 years I lived
leave a crimson rash

on my skin once as white as snow.
the skin they began to scar
when I was 11, too young to know

that they were not just scars.
they were the marks on the bark
of a green, tender tree-

marks of men (or brutes?)- wild
and untamed.
there was nothing left of innocence,

nothing left of rainbows.
I did not have my days to play-
instead I was being played with.

I, a delicate *****, white,
stripped and whipped and sold.
a love-bit nape, blackened sight,
named the girl of gold.

but no more, no more.
I have risen from the depth
with my soft body rugged

and sour breath
and teeth marks on my collarbone-
like it was only yesterday.

men and their laughs-
tormenting and know-all,
conspiring my fall.

Now that I'm awake,
risen from my grave-
(they were kind to give me one)

I shall give them back the scars
they etched upon my heart,
I shall give them back the pain.

the little purple bruises.
I shall torture them quite insane
and they would die,

they would eventually die with regrets-
regrets not confessed.
I would return to my grave
and smile,

maybe laugh the manly laugh-
tormenting and know-all,
I would be their fall.
My first Plath-inspired.
Amber K Apr 2014
I dreamed of a new grave,
that was now home to a boy
who tried to destroy me,
and caused so much pain.

It was not a normal graveyard,
instead it was near the woods.
There were strange graves surrounding him.
His headstone was so plain.

"You ready?"
Someone spoke to me.
But I didn't have the courage,
to complete what they asked of me.

So without hesitation,
the person approached the grave,
and with a lighter,
they burned and blackened the name.

For a second,
he didn't exist.
His body did not lie in this pit,
because he never existed.

But someone who knew him,
came to visit the grave.
They did not question why the name was gone,
they just nodded and spoke about irrelevant things.

No one would miss him.
No one would find his grave.
With the name burned,
he never even existed.

Till I got a phone call.
How is he still breathing?
He spoke kindly to me,
like he had never done wrong in his life.

I cursed at him,
and told him never to return.
Because he was supposed to be dead,
and his name was burned!

But still he haunted me.
Just in a different way.
That's when I realized,
revenge leaves a bitter taste.
This is about a dream I had last night. Like the poem says, I dreamed that an ex of mine had died, and I was pretty happy just because that meant I never had to deal with him again (he messed me up pretty badly, so I'm not surprised that I was happy in my dream), and in my dream I went to his see his grave with some of my friends. They had apparently convinced me that it would help me get over the past and that I could finally get some sort of revenge. Well while we were at the grave, my friend took out a lighter and told me I should burn the name and it would help me forget that he even existed. I told her I couldn't because it felt wrong, but she did it anyways. That's when one of his relatives showed up and was talking to me about how she understood he done a lot of bad things to me and he probably deserved what happened to him and his grave. Right after that talk, I got a phone call from him. He was telling me to help him with something and he sounded so different. His voice wasn't the same and he sounded genuinely sorry for all of the hurt he had caused so many people, but I couldn't tell him it was okay and I couldn't tell him how to fix it, because I knew that nothing could fix what he had done. He was dead and non-existent to most of the world, yet I still felt the same pain from the past as I did before his death. I think this dream helped me realize I need to stop letting what happened in the past effect me. Whether he says sorry for what he did, or changes his ways, or dies and becomes just another body in the ground, it won't change the past. The only thing I can do is forgive and move on with my life instead of remembering the things he did to me. It's the only way I can remain happy and free from the past.
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