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Bongani Sep 22
Pain stain the brain
Pain stains our brains
Tanaya Oct 2018
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...
Simone13 Sep 2018
quills unburdened cuts
small as threads

some words are better left undone
then said

little by little
day by day

but for paper they’re scars
that won’t fade away

each beat is stained
flowing with ink

but it goes more unnoticed
than you think

even if they try to mend those
they seep through

papers pages will never
be brand-new
The words people tell sometimes ,they leave scars and even if they beg for forgiveness... sometimes you can forgive but you struggle  to forget
Druzzayne Rika Apr 2018
flames and ice
the river flows
still picture
highlighted features
all the arrangement
all on its places
but in the end
rich stains
is all that remains
ruining the perfection
i am
just another stain
another ****** stain
on a shirt
on a bandage
dripping onto the floor
because no one caught it in time
another stain to wipe away

i am
just another mark
another ****** mark
on my bed
on my hands
dripping onto the floor
because it hurts to open my mouth
another mark that just won't scrub out

i am
just another cut
another ****** cut
on my arms
on my legs
dripping onto the floor
because feeling pain is better than feeling nothing
another cut that won't heal right
Eric Angels Feb 2018
I have stained thy name with sin,  
Stained thy lips with lustful kisses,
I have messed up your innocent memories
With all the thrusting and throbbing
You go through at night
While all you seek is to sleep peacefully by my side
We have stained my bedsheets,
You do it out of love
But I seek to break your body,
Because someone broke my heart
DeAnn Feb 2018
I am stained

Stained by the past
Stained by my desires
Stained by my failures
Stained by my broken dreams
Stained by what could have been
Stained by "what if"

The tears that fall down my face are black ink
The trail of tears stain my cheeks
Sharp, painful, visible
Yet I am invisible

No one else can see my stains
My pains
My sins

But I see them everyday, every second
The mirrors curse my visage

I am stained
Irina BBota Nov 2017
How pretentious can be the silence
in the mornings of the hot summer days!
I felt nothing no more, for patience
is not limited to formal love and it says:

It was just me. The rest of the world delivers
heavy waves stumbling against my wall,
trying to set right the serpentined rivers
of crying, flowing on my crusty skin of a wooden doll.

The Sun, a dragon that throws flames on his nose,
the Wind, too coward to show his refreshing face,
the Sky, discolored in the distance, it froze,
just the Moon closed his eyes, leaving no trace .

Me and I, were not well together,
but I have found the power to listen to myself,
sipping the sweet-bitter coffee, feeling a bit better,
I was learning again to live, to be an other self.

I knew that one day the blank pages will be coloured,
That the ink stains of my soul will disappear,
That I will forget about the storm that is uncovered,
the call of love will be on my side, without shedding no tear.

I knew that butterflies melody I would hear soon,
Birds chattering happy over the green forest,
That I will never hear poor souls screaming in the noon,
That all this will be simple memories on my wrist.

Now I extinguish my thirst with accords of violin,
Mistrust has deserted from my sleepless earth,
Regrets have become sad songs of flowers on my skin,
In the breeze of the morning, forgetting my wound's birth.
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