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little lion Nov 2021
you kissed the ****** scars
that adorned my fingertips,

only to shatter the heart you helped to repair, then leave me to pick up the broken pieces once again.

.

In seven years,
my body will be one that is
untouched by you...

but my heart may not be so lucky.
I never asked you to.
Ellis Reyes Sep 2021
Blinding flash
Eardrums burst
Blood, so much blood
Is it mine?
My eyes!
MEDIC!!

Snipping ripping
Scissors and hands tear away at my clothes
Water or something splashes
Burning everywhere
The smell...
**** and fire and burned meat
Is this what death smells like?
MOM!!!

Floating
No carried
On a litter
Now flying
UH-60
****!
Something jabbed...
Floating
Floating

Far away
Voices
Beeping
Crying
Screaming
Begging
Mom?

Closer
Voices
­Beeping
Wheels rolling
Machine sounds
Words
Mom...

Here, Now
Bright lights
Searing pain
Masked faces
Muffled voices
IV bags
Machine sounds
Mom
Questions
No answers

Where's my leg?
Marissa Taylor May 2021
the past still haunts me
it's living in my mind
&when I think ive healed
my wounds are cut back open.
as im about to bleed out
you bandage my heart
temporarily.
Shannon Soeganda Jan 2021
Beseeching words
genuinely rooted from
the wounded, rotten heart

whispering
to the cold, thin air of
"I have nothing left to say---"
Thank you for putting up with me, dear self. For teaching me to make peace with my demon; not to get rid of it.
Remembrances of Wounded Knee

It was a beautiful dream
that ended in the silence
of the dead laying
huddled and scattered
upon the winter ground.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021
Tony Tweedy Dec 2020
I remember how it felt and every dark and angry pain,
the feeling of tender soreness from every ache and throbbing sprain.

I remember ruptured internals and the fire of an appendix burst,
and the excruciating agony at every touch that was loudly cursed.

I remember the touch of many physical pains that left me feeling sore,
But nothing hurts so much as that last time you left my door.
Some wounds just refuse to heal and some pain never abates.
Norbert Tasev Nov 2020
How was it before? The budding scent-universe of roses chased him to Death: a petal-crushing allure, a flirtatious Reality that not even a fallen child-minded man can escape? Because love and forbidden Stars abraded in human hearts! The puzzle is ready! That's why he had to go to the depths of hell! The hungry and wild **** of greedy cannibals is all to possess on this earth! Wounded Man do not sell yourself at any cost!
 
Whoever has just come to live and prosper in this region will be expelled from themselves, chased away immediately! The enviable evil itself lacks the human-building lava stone, and the nose of the uncontrollable Sisyphean stone rumbles equally out of the Redeemer. - A deliberate Hermit-Orpheus who has moved away from the world: he is afraid of you here - more laurel merits can hardly be created, because the deserved Success has become salable, so everyone is determined to be down!
 
Cocktail-rucis grins the smiley little girl's role with a chirping little mouth-smile and the universal devil of Idiotism conquers everywhere! - I slip into my evenings with a crouching shadow with invisible and intentional intentions; I can't let a brain-numbing, vile laziness guide me by the hand - when so much is still waiting for me as all possible care and counting on me! "Wolves have long been shed in sheepskin and sold by so many themselves." Oh, you unfortunate, deceived apostate! At least you can still do the sacred light of the wisdom of your mind, don't make a mess!
 
As a Prophet with a stubborn ****, throw two on your feet and convince yourself to remain a Man forever
annh Oct 2020
They speak to the madman,
Suppression, subversion, detraction,
A vocabulary of ‘less than’.

They speak to the madman,
To the loveless and the wounded,
The self-doubting ego.

They speak to the madman,
A consort of shadows,
Recurrent with paradox.

Until...uncertain as to the integrity of my own thoughts,
Understudied by self-censure and distrust,
I pause to listen in silence to the silence which listens back.

‘My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear — a care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee from my negligence. The "I" in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.’
- Khalil Gibran, The Madman
poemsbyothers Aug 2020
wounded heart

punctured heart, pinhole big,
pain rushes in, as loves leaks out
nature abhors a vacuum

a wounded heart
has both rights and wrongs
our wrongs, were all ill timed,
our rights, never strong enough...

now they want surgery, a transplant,
denial tho my first line of defense, can’t,
because even this imperfect heart is
the only one that loved her, albeit imperfectly,
and that, that is better than a new heart that
never knew the meaning of love for her!
this poem, my first, is my authorship.  Those that follow, the preponderance, will be by others.
Respect Copyright!
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