Factions dance blade
to grindstone (action) Scholars scratch pen to paper (action) Thinkers mash pride to danger (inaction) What have I done? Oh, I've lived Meaningless & Ill Longer than expected What all have I done? Eagerly Ejected myself From ****, to wooden ****
Her eyes are covered by a black cloth
Settling on my thighs Her eyes are fading But are still so bright red Sometimes When she gets scratched Her eyes cry a ravine of blood And I have to stop it I put bandaids over her eyes To stop her from crying To force her from crying But her eyes twitch And as the cloth moves, It pulls the bandaids right off. But by then she has stopped crying Her eyes are just red now And the more I wait And let her be The more she fades The happier I am And then I scratch her again.
This is an extreme metaphor, but interpret it as you wish.
My heart is scratched
But I won’t say or sway Or look at the gaping space within Guess it was never known That I felt this way
Chicken scratch... scribbles, Slashed against the page... What is this rage? This ink is my blood. Let me bleed some more. ~Robert van Lingen
What else is there to say
why did i stay for so ******* ******* long loving you was like hitting the **** unhealthy habits we must collapse things we shouldn't do things that deprove the mood. back at it with the nonsense can't even read this chicken scratch
man my handwriting is terrible
The sheathing of this bulb
has broken, filled with scratches Although it still shines bright Hub of its joy: serving me It has seen all of my doodles but gave away nothing My infant poems often think that its light is their mother My sweat, my tears, my nightmares are its insignia, its tatoo It imputes its capability of breathing to me but I am the apprentice here
influenced by wabi-sabi philosophy
Believe me Got broken takes, no time Healing, a way long Fragments, Need to be confirm Align to the earlier form Stabilize for endurance Then finally Makeover stitch Allowing the time to recover But this is not the end Some of us take Much longer than The usual time In those Who are obsessed To scratch the scar Recall the moment With a same dumb question Why me? Little do we knew Why few don’t Want to get healed And what keeps them Scratching
Theme: Note on scar | Why some aren't healed at all?
the bathtubs full with cold water - you place your hands on the inside of my ribs - the petals drop like last nights shooting stars - and you told me that was your first kiss - bang bang on my windows baby until i wake up - because no one can know that your in here baby no i don't want no fuss - nails scratching down your velvet skin - do you know how to make me spin? can you make me spin? baby i need you to make me spin - was it really your first kiss? - why do we always lie like this - cry like this - staying awake late in the night to feel your lips - on my hips - make me forget
Life is a record scratch
a record scratch a record scratch a record scratch a record scratch a record scratch Until the needle is lifted and moved somewhere new