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ever standing
body lithe, strong
trained to strike

too dashing for peeling paint
old verandas
slow-paced hamlet

waiting in country town
place to whizz past
road to tourist hub

how does his tale read
did he pay
for assault

struck the frame
holder of *****
spawning breath

cold fury
for scenes of his mother
thrown down

stain his every stance
grabbing mail swiftly
ahead of arrival

panther muscles
no more the crouching lad
shuddering

her screams
bounce off walls
as mother's body slumps

broken bottle scars
left to clean up the mess
as he leaves for school
forage into
fictional possibility -
penned
with deep respect
for David
of village
post office
mes Feb 1
Love
is a battlefield
we
are flying arrows
when we hit flesh
and one more soldier is down to the ground
heavily armed with dreadful hopes in hand
dead are they
then alive they become
as their blood are pouring down like milk
as they go down in hysterical laughter
they finally make it
we become merely objects
cutting sharp whoever is on site,  
we don’t know what the **** we are doing.
but who is shooting us at the enemy?
who has sharpened us till we bleed? thrown our strengths in the fire
drown them into the water
‘til our wooden bodies get tired
then break
as they get finished?
chanting at fate’s face
the only thing we have held until that very moment
that once and for all
cheaters conquer the world
good ones make it to the finish line.
I feel like love is not our battle. We participate but it isn’t up to us, it happens without our hands involved. Love is something greater than ourselves.
I wish I could say it all smooth,
blue skies and butterflies,
peaches and cream,
sea glass gliding the edge
of the tide and the moon's soft glow
steadying our fragile night.

But the world is too sharp,

darling, and the lullabyes we
whisper before morning dew are
dashed to pieces by noon, the promises
we make suspended somewhere
unreachable. Slashed and stitched but
the scar is elusive. Tenuous.

Till then we conspire.
part of something larger im working on...i know i rarely post, i have a habit of just dropping tidbits of writing into my drafts until i decide what to do with them
Elizabeth Jan 6
Gee thanks for your thoughts
Your sympathetic pats
Trying to help by saying nothing at all
"Oh you're just worried"
To **** with that.
Lady Ravenhill Dec 2018
Sharp break of the day
jolly, knitted mitten pokes
through the pine needles
Lady Ravenhill 2018
Haiku #69
Grace Dec 2018
I’m often afraid
Of what I can’t always say
Not knowing is sure to make fear
Multiply upon itself until I cannot
Breathe and my heart races as if it
Can run away despite my body’s
Stillness
Frozen like a rabbit hides from
Slathering wolves
But my wolf is not so solid, its sharp
Teeth and ember eyes change into
Something with which I cannot
Reason
Maybe it is nothing I fear
Dark branches stretching out
Into night drenched
Solitude
Headlights my only solace from the
Dizzy roads and inky stars
What are they hiding, those
Branches
Perhaps wolves, perhaps nothing
I prefer the wolves
Amelia Nov 2018
I write on my skin,
With an instrument that is sharp.
I indent on this canvas
that is so paper thin,
I am at the cliff’s scarp.

I draw a line across my wrist,
but this must not persist.
I line my face with a beautiful smile,
Maybe I can keep this appearance up for a little while.
My effort is consumed by a concept called life,
For happiness
and not loneliness I will strife.

One day I hope I will no longer draw these lines,
One day I hope everything will be fine.
Özcan Sh Oct 2018
Sharp broken heart parts in her chest
Made her bleed for a few days

Her rain clouds arrived
Eyes went to the sky
Saw how the raindrops
Fell on her forehead

She grew taller
Became stronger,
Prettier and dangerous
Than before

Like a beautiful rose
That blooms
With sharp thorns.
Mary Frances Oct 2018
I am a collection of shattered,
broken glasses.
My sides and edges are sharp
and may cause a wound
to whoever dare to hold me in their hands.
You may think that only my large shards can hurt but the truth is,
it's the small ones that can create the most pain.

Despite these things, is your love still
willing to embrace my brokenness?
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