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Empire Dec 2019
On the ****** battlefield she stands
She can’t feel her wounds anymore
Pain so intolerable she’s gone numb
Her shield shattered
Sword too heavy for her fatigued limbs

To take a step forward
She musters all her strength
Then falls to her knees
The shield slides from her arm

Her hand can no longer grasp the sword
And allows the blade to fall beside her
Where she lies
Weak, helpless

Her strength fails her
And weaker and weaker
Her heartbeat grows
Waiting to stop
Eagerly anticipating
That one last breath
Kylee Dec 2019
I use poetry as my wielded sword

But I’m tired of fighting the same battles
And writing the same lines

How is this wound supposed to heal

if I keep prying it open?

-the battle is only in your head now
abby Nov 2019
harsh words spoken
old wounds open
hidden emotion
when love walks out the door

in time, it will come

you try to maintain your mystery despite the history

you cannot hide from me
you can no longer hide what lies deep inside

you cannot ask me of any more.
b Nov 2019
the stitches in my thigh are
healing so now we can all shake hands
and watch the money
poor in. the bombs are not coming,
please come out from
under your desks, you are safe
now and if im being honest
the desks wouldn’t protect you
from the shrieks of a
war plane. they sound
like nothing you’ve
ever heard
a frequency you unlocked
just for this
particular pain. you can almost see
the sound pour into your ear drums
like a bartender mixing
the ***** and the cranberry.
it sounds like 6am
it sounds like the same song
over and over.
Hussein Dekmak Oct 2019
Soar above your pains by coddling them.
Rise above your wounds by embracing them.
Ascend above your sorrows by accepting them!

Intertwine them, hold tight to their emotional charge,
Convert them to positive energy, and
Make them a part of your prayer temple!

Your wound is the place
Where flowers will blossom
With a rainbow of spring colors!

Your pain is the place
Where your cure will emerge
with the birth of a new dawn and renewed purpose!

Your sorrow is the place
Where joy will bud
With a life full of hope and optimism!

Hussein Dekmak
Edited 2
Anastasia Sep 2019
thinking about the way we used to be
and then looking at your face
its like
shoving cotton into an open wound
it's soft
but it hurts
you're so happy
without me
and i don't know why i act like it's my fault
i know it's not
but
i can't help but feel
that i wasn't good enough for you
i miss you
i really do
Sabila Siddiqui Sep 2019
Your name wrung
between the lines of
fresher tender cuts.
Brushing a slower finger
over dusty pages,
disturbing untold stories
that was long untouched.

Your name is
the tap-tap of hammer nails
and the crimson consummator.

The barricading name,
of the mesmeric temple of apologies
molded by unequivocal agony and anger
lying in the bleak moor
laced with your remnants.

My mind is left shambled on the floor,
shards of memories
now leaking as exudate
am I being inflamed?

If I were to paint this across the canvas,
it’d be red, blue then purple
a galaxy with mismatched constellations
on a rippled fabric of night skies.

If I were to ink you to paper,
tracing you in black
you’d diffuse, cry and leak
into a pool of red,
dripping at the edge of the paper.

You are the cactus
pricking with every temptation.

The one engrained in my figmentation
wrapped in lessons
coloring the pigmentation of my skin
with various hues.

You are the open wound
with the fabricated scab.

You are the name
that rings inside my head,
echoing through my memories
trembling shakes, tremors
through the cronies
widening the past a little
more within me.
Tiger Striped Sep 2019
if you had never fallen from heaven, i would not have loved those broken wings. if your blood did not trail into my house, you would not lay on my couch as i wrapped you up. i've heard heaven is lovely, free of pain and brokenness — but when you are whole, you do not need someone to complete you. no one looks after you, or asks you how you are. but there is only so long i can tend to your wounds. so why, after all these years, do you not spread your wings to fly? did you really fall from heaven, or did you jump?
David Hasselblad Aug 2019
Eaten Alive by Nothing

Surrounded yet alone,
Wasteland of desperation and despair,
Reaping rotting fruit, bloats, gnats, flyblown,
Longing, loneliness is never fair,

Lanterns and candle light to keep you warm,
Dancing shadows morph to devils,
Slitting despair bleeding, breeding ticks that swarm,
They feed and breed into hungry weevils,

Burrowing through chest to feed on carrion of rotting heart,
Also feeding on air from lung,
Heart along in solitude from ventricles shredded apart,
Alienating through truth, be still my lashing tongue,

Friends are always around,
Right until you need,
A lost letter of emotion sent outbound,
Lost but never found, devils take the lead,

Numb, in slowly boiling water like a frog,
Past scars of trauma a curse,
Can only feel so much before a clog,
Until you become cold, psychotic, or worse.

Break out the old smokescreen mask,
Smoke, laugh and smile,
Survivals your only task,
Foot in front of foot until your first mile,

Decaying down to skin and bone,
Each mile a greater distance,
Always harder when you’re alone,
Exhausted, running from the devils persistence,

Until a day you want to be alone
Quarantining spread this plagues fate of hate,
Feeling like happiness is just a loan,
Someone finally listens, too little, too late,

You hug your dark cloud,
With a thirst water doesn’t sate,
Ears covered, anxiety so, so loud,
Take a shot, a smoke, anything to placate,

An infested body no one wants close,
Insect army of traumas and abuses,
Each growing into a lethal dose,
At least for now, I still have my uses,
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