I try to forget about
the things that I’ve done,
and sometimes I can
but when I get home,
I see that my bad decisions
are still stained into
Blood is thicker than water,
But blood dries and crusts up and stains
And inevitably turns a dull brown,
While water flows forever
And wipes the stains away,
And when it dries it’s only a matter of time
Until it rains again!
Fat sounds, and fingers
spread ugly phleghming sharting stains on
Cotton, shiny white and new. And
Spit and ***** books a slot on,
Saturdays outfit change and
She wished to paint with watercolors
because they bled all over the paper
Like her emotions bled all out of her wrists
but never out of her mouth
She wished there was a way to be beautiful
and still tell the truth of her messy, wild life
She was reaching for her razor blade
When the watercolors called to her
There is a better way
There is an easier way than this, they whispered
She wanted to believe it
but didn't know if it was worth the risk
didn't want to look weak
There was no pain involved in this new way
Only beauty bleeding from her heart
Instead of her skin
Was it worth it?
to leave paint stains rather than scars on her arms
A memory abound in the people here
Leaving behind a trace of their fears
Don’t mark me if you plan to leave too soon
And see me only when my plants are in bloom
A thousand beings, in my life
Staining me with tears and strife
Don’t take a main part of my home
If soon you’ll go back to roam
Somehow, with just a tiny bit of chocolate
my problems would scurry away.
So colorless, yet so flavorful.
Ready to fill the empty pit in my stomach.
At times I only had my bar of chocolate
to eat away my guilt.
The glossy yellow wrapper would fall to the floor,
while the chocolate melted at my fingertips.
It would stain the fragile pages of my books,
but cleanse the stains of my shattered soul.
My blood is an obsidian color
I bleed words on paper
Prisoner to my mind for eternity
Ink stains branded on my heart
one might say 'it was a good day',
had some eye contact with ernest hemingway
[only his books of course, not his face],
also a large amount of caffeine,
while listening to the beatles 'yellow submarine'.
a teaspoon of long forsaken melancholy,
longing for joy and mischievous folly.
and all that remained
in my sorrowful mind to contemplate
were two cloud-shaped coffee stains.
one was bright, the other frail.
two might say 'it could be a fairy tale'.
that it was not.
© fey (23/09/19)
I open my eyes,
Flip the pages,
Stop by the one with the coffee stain,
There's a killing pain.
I close my eyes,
and read the verses of the poetry,
Word by word, Crystal clear
There's your memory
It's haunting me.
I open my eyes,
The page remains,
There lay the letters smudged
By not just the coffee stains,
But dried blood from my veins.
The Blood now wet with tears,
and the black of the kohl in my eyes...