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AE Mar 2022
Morning collapses into night
with emotions scattered on the ground
here we are kneeling down
picking up the pieces,
throwing them into pools of midnight
This bitter honey sleeps on my tongue
my words unfiltered
build static charge
in these exchanges
through which this current flows
I'm left wondering, if within your eyes
I can find the pain that you disguise
if i can pull it out from this
reservoir of sunset dyes
and stain it with the words I left inside
will it bloom into the flowers
we would pick and laugh over
to hide the butterflies
circling this unknown that we once denied?
Jason May 2021

I've scoured off my skin needing to scrub it out
I've exfoliated to the bone wanting to rub it out
I've been used and abused hoping to love it out
I've put on twenty pounds trying to grub it out

(Who doesn't love a big but?)

There's no infomercial-Oxy-booster to clean this stain
(Your absence a dark blotch in my sight)

There's no late-night ShamWow-savior to absorb this pain
(This displaced grief and fright)

There's no thought deep enough to wash you from my brain
(Nor the contrail of confusion behind your flight)

There's no shower cold enough, it weathers even this caustic rain
(Love's inexhaustible light)

© 05/10/21 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved

Started this one a few days ago but couldn't get it to come out right so I never finished it. Not sure if it's right, it probably *****, but it's finished! ;p
Been kinda slow to write anything lately, and I've fallen behind my own internal challenge, but oh well.  Depression has been ringing my bell like a prize-fighter whose mother I just insulted.  Viciously insulted, apparently.
Ahl be bahk.
Veritia Venandi Apr 2021
Of all the loves in the history of the world, ours was a one that could not be.

Like a newborn child dying the moment it is born, like a flower dropping to the ground the moment it blooms, like a fire put off the moment it begins burning,

Our affections were robbed of a life!

But maybe that is why, this blank space, this nothingness would cherish our love...
Because out of all the loves that stood, ours stood out more.

It was not a smooth trail of ink that took the shape of letters.
It was a blot of ink, a gigantic one that could not take a form and yet left behind a stain for the world to remember-Of a love that stirred hearts only to put them to sleep!
The many tales of love ❤
Thank you for reading!
kiran goswami Jul 2020
Misogyny tastes like the sanitary pad that has been used by her,
over and over again.
So it is not stained in blood but
soaked in blood.
Ashlyn Yoshida Jul 2020
I'm a stain.
My life and personality is just a stain
I'm ink across the paper
of society.

I'm red.
I'm always angry at something or someone
And yet I'm always smiling and laughing
along with their insults.

I'm not broken, people just want to erase me.
I'm not supposed to be here, they say.
My type of weird
Is unacceptable to society, they say.

But each one of us is a different color
spread across this paper, no canvas
that is society
each of us a stain, no a streak

A brush of personality no one else can have
Together we are beautiful
and no one is going to tell me
that I'm not beautiful without lying to themselves

and being the same only makes the painting boring
this is all about personality not looks
kiran goswami Jul 2020
My mother told me to leave my mark
wherever I went.
When I asked her what did she mean,
She told me,
How she wanted me to leave
my name and my brand
as a symbol and signature
of my 'identity'.

'Identity', how would it look like...
Will it be tall so that it can
reach success even without climbing up.
Will it be hour-glass with curves
large enough to be liked.
Will it be fair so that it can be lonely too.
Will it be rich so that it can purchase Bugatti and Bentley.
Will it be smart so that it can create its success if it is not provided with any.
Will it be beautiful so that it can make people stop and stare.
Will it be kind so that it heals and saves what has been killed.
Or will it be soft so that it weighs every word before it speaks?

But then my mother told me your identity is 'you'.
But I cannot become my identity because I am not a signature to be looked at or a mark to be left.

So when I looked up in the dictionary
I found how mark is synonymous for
that I got on my sweatpant this morning.
that has covered my neck like a mosaic painting.
that has been carved on my legs by my own hands.
that I have thrown on my parent's name and 'identity'.
that has covered my pages and hands because my pen is broken.
that stays on my heart.
that I have put on myself and let others call me by it.
that I do not have.

My mother told me to leave my mark wherever I went.
But, wherever I went,
I gained one.
-elixir- Jun 2020
Your hands,
do many things.
But I implore you,not to let
another man's blood
stain your hands.
And unleash the wretched in you.
The killing of one human is equivalent to killing all human
William de klerk May 2020
Every  late night filled with bliss
is etched in red
like lipstick from a stolen kiss
on the white of this bed.

Every single grey smudge shows
a world of lows written in pencil
but still I see those highs
clearly in my murky memory.

Every scar slowly branded into
burnt skin that eventually healed
are tally marks for the demons I slew
and hint at battles that will not yield.

Memory made
World written
Battle beaten

Stained, Smudged and Scarred
A blank and Boring canvas
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