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LC Apr 2022
They reached behind my sternum,
wrapped their hands around my heart,
and attempted to strangle it.
I pried their aching hands away,
and I tore my bleeding heart in half.
One half shaped itself into bread,
and the other half fermented into wine.
My eyelids slowly came together
as I let the holy water wash over me.
My words consecrate the communion,
and I bless it for people to consume
so we remember that we're not alone.
Escapril Day 9! The prompt was "we're not alone," and I thought about communion, which is what Christians consume every week. It is considered the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ.
My family is Christian, and I am questioning the beliefs I have been raised with. Some life events and growth have led me to think differently, and I want to be skeptical in a healthy way. Faith has been on my mind due to these reasons. I also do not intend to mock Christianity; I was inspired by the religion to write this poem.
I believe writing and sharing helps us remember we're not alone. I truly hope my poems help in that way for everyone who reads them 💗
Daisy Ashcroft Mar 2021
Vines wrap round their trees until
There is no bark left to see.
Flowers will drink and get their fill
But too much and it's a tragedy.
Often when a storm's too strong
Away any foundations are blown
And are lost to the winds for much too long -
Won't you please leave me alone?

The weeds strangle the neighbour roots
Of flowers just trying to bloom
They quell the reach of nearby shoots
Til they are driven to their doom.
Locusts once came and blocked the light
And blood drowned the rivers red.
Why won't you see that we are not right
And you should find someone else instead?
Love's Philosophy Pastiche
Poetic T Apr 2020
A serial killer,
            hangs up his hatchet...

To scared of a cough to indulge,
                 in a fulfilment of a hobby..

Takes up sewing...
Ruth Nadler-Nir Oct 2019
Your name tastes bitter in my mouth
Though still I crave your lips
Trace my body with your finger tips

Your words or lack there of strangle me
Though I want you to embrace me
Let your whole being encase me

Your existence fills me with sadness
Though you used to bring me joy
So much power held in the palm of one beautiful broken boy
For the curly haired boy who held more power over me than he ever knew.
Asominate Feb 2019
Whatever you say
I'm up to the task

I try but I know
I'll never be good enough

Realistic expectations,
Is that too much to ask?

Must be the best,
Nothing less
Than perfection

In everything I do,
I do it all for you
No room to fail with these 'expectations'

With every cut that's red,
With every bruise that's blue
I'll fall apart for you
For 'expectations'

With every tear I shed,
With every mask I bred,
There's nothing to be said,
I'm suffocating

The high bar has been set
There are goals to be reached
I can't stop until death
Either yours or one for me
FreeMind Jun 2018
Distancing herself away, from the so called 'Love'.
This Love that everyone praises and admires.
This Love that people always desire.

He said it was Love too.
The kisses, the presents. That was all his Love.
But so were the arguments, the fights.
Love was chaos.
But doesn't everyone want Love.
To feel Love, at least once?
And so she fell for it.
For his mysterious gaze. For his slight smile.
For the Love that he offered.

But the innocent hugs came to an end.
That was not enough.
His greed wanted more. Wanted the satisfaction from this Love.
So when he held her against her will, and called it Love,
She felt ashamed for crying.
Ashamed for asking him to stop, Ashamed for saying no.
But that did not stop him.
Because in his eyes, it was Love.

The excuse he used to hurt her.
To abuse her.
To destroy her.
And she remained silent.
Isolating herself from those that could help.
How could she hate him if he was doing it out of Love?
How could she leave when all it was - was Love?

But it's never what it seems, is it..?

Love is a lie.

Love is dead.

And so is she.
June 21, 2018
Zeyea Jul 2018
The heaviness on my chest,
the strangled breaths stinking of wafting toxicity,
the bloodstains on my hands
from a ****.
My mind is whirling,
and I wonder
if this is it
if this is insanity distorted past reality
if I am truly lost in this labyrinth of twisted smiles and white lies
if I have finally finally turned myself into a monster.
Nick Stiltner Jun 2018
Time has its hands around my neck, strangling me.
A diamond clock around my neck like Flavor Flav,
hanging off me, pulling my head down to the dirt.

The tortuous second, an arduous minute
I grind my teeth at the passing hour.
I squeeze each passing day, holding tightly,
but it always escapes between my fingers,
liquefying and dripping through, evaporating.

Wake and pace,
I wake and begin to pace.
Weaving a trail through the leaves at my feet,
the meadow floor becoming my revolving door
with only one exit, a blinking red sign
flashes, its arrow pointing directly down
imprinting itself in my pupil.

Sing the song of the day!
Whether it be swaying morning Jazz
or a night owls rhythmic hoots,
sing it loud and let it ring,
for you never know the last song you will sing.

Walk in circles, hum the tone,
whatever it takes to get you past that
glaring sun high in the sky at each passing noon.
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