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Asante' 2d
It's a scar
that everyone insists on
rubbing their finger in.
"Oops,"
they say as the blood starts
oozing again.

Then they leave me to
nurse my own wound.
faith 5d
run from your life,
run from the strife,
escape the pain,
there's nothing to gain,
from the hurt in your heart,
it's time to get smart,
pack your bags,
renew your tags,
speed away in your car,
it'll only leave a scar,
don't worry about her,
the reminder of who you were,
leave that life behind,
empty out your mind,
don't rethink,
you're on the brink,
it's a new chapter,
just think after.
Lost Dec 4
my body is scarred
thick pink and white
bumpy raised tissue
along my hip
and through my thigh

I am marked
my patchwork skin
has cigarette hickeys
where I pressed the cherry in
I’ve been kissed by fire
long, slow, and passionate

these marks of residual pain
are proof that I’ve lived
I wear my heart on my sleeve
and my hurt on my skin
Panteh-A Dec 3
He left & never ever turned back
My little rainbow turned to black

I watched his steps Got further
He never thought he could ******

That little heart he had it once
Steps took seconds for me months

He used to be the sky of my stars
Now just a memory within my scars



I heard his voice, now the rain
All I felt was love, now the pain

I wonder how he feels while leaving me
I wonder if he knows he's killing me

Now here I sit on a broken pier
I wish I had a voice you could hear

I wish my broken heart had a sound
But I sit in silence, on the ground

I sit & listen to the sound of waves
I know I'm dying & nothing saves

Little heart & high hopes I had
from this sadness I won't be mad

**He left and never ever turned back...
Written while waiting with the snow flakes
October 2016
Daniel Long Dec 2
There’s scars you’ve left behind
in me, on me,
emotional wounds
never vanish.

Flagellated this face,
choked this heart,
gushes of red-stained tears
from these lacerated eyes.

Scarify my cheeks
with streams of
white-hot memories
…**** you!
A poem about my ex.
My poetry/short story website: www.gothicsurrealism.com
art has
no discounts;
it creates habits
which you can't support,
it creates
leftover
cigarette buds
which are suddenly
so attractive
and smokable.
it cuts scars
right open,
makes them
ripe
for seeding,
it rots the seeds,
proceeds to
plant them
in any
visible sore
and then,
one day,
you're suddenly
decaying.

art has
no discounts,
only one form of
contract-
"sign here
to agree
to a lack
of food
and an increase
in the rate
of your
mental
degeneration".

art has
no discounts;
yet here I sit,
writing,
because there's
no
universe
without
it .
Jedda Nov 27
I ran my fingertips along every curve and dip of her body

Noticed every mark, every scar that lay upon her skin

I whispered “ who did this to you? ”

Tenderly she says “ these craters were moulded by every word you have spoken, my dear “

I chock down “ I never meant to hurt you “

She smiled “ do not worry, they all look up and say that I am beautiful “
- j
Richie Nov 26
People come into your life not for some reason but with a valid reason. They knock at our door always at the right time, never late, never early.

Some stay for a while, others may leave and then, they'd come back. You enjoyed every moment while they were still visible to your eye, audible to your ear and tangible by your touch.

Along the way, they made you laugh, made you cry, and may even hurt you. But, don't point fingers at them, don't blame them nor even desert them. Just keep mum and embrace the scar as a lesson learnt.

When it's time to say goodbye to these people, never hold back. Not everyone will make it to your future. Some are fitted to pass through to teach you lessons in life.


Should the day come and they realized your worth, that person they left behind may never be that same person again. And, that's for certainty.


I shed a tear today not just because I lost a friend. But, it is hurtful knowing that you were true to yourself as a friend. And, that you didn't actually lose a friend, but you just woke up and realized you NEVER had ONE.
hurt
there is this vertical scar on my arm.
still raised, still partially scabbed, slightly pink.
for some reason it reminds me of bliss.
oxymoron Nov 16
people write about love
how forever sometimes feels alone,
that somewhere there is perfect one,

people write about broken heart,
not about those things they are attached to,
or how people are still holding onto old scars,

people write about loss,
how at the same time
a person is intimidate yet so tender,

people write about emptiness,
why memories never fade away,
or how they forget themselves
on the way of loving everything and everyone,

people write about prettiest smiles,
how joyfully they walked under the stars,
miles and miles,

but here i am
half broken, half in love

perhaps i don't write about
people who leave,
i write about those things
who stayed behind,
i write about moments
which feels like butterflies,
i write about you
so broken yet alive.
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