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When my finger met the paper, in a brief love affair, it took my blood as a trophy.
Then the red droplets created a beautiful mess as they sank into the dead white wood.
It stung badly, and it continued to hurt as I went on a mission to find a bandage that
could keep the crimson art inside of me, instead of spilling it everywhere.
When I wiped the excess blood away I saw nothing, yet I was still in pain.
But what hurts the most right now is my heart, because just like I couldn’t
see the papercut, you can’t see my broken heart either, and it is bleeding heavily.
Because of you.
And I can’t seem to find a bandage big enough to heal the
hole you left in my dying heart.
I am so happy that my poem was selected as a daily. That is so unbelievable on so many levels. Thank you so very much to all of your comments, likes and reposts. It means the world to me! :)
Right now, as we speak, there's a little boy, aged five
Pushed aside on the corner of his mat, where he naps
His fingers are clenched onto shredded crumbs of bread
He managed to get his hands on this morning despite his mother's constant nags
About having to save the last few bits for his new born sister  
Ashes and rubble are his best friends ever since he can remember
Disturbance aches him no more
For everything he's ever known are dents  
He wouldn't know what the other side of the rainbow looks like, let alone both
For he's never encountered a rainbow during his yelps of pain
Pressure, abundance of destruction, humiliation
His innocent weeps never reach aid
He is now used to it
No more room to present emotion
For everything he's encountered will forever be frozen in time
He wouldn't know what peace is, ever
For contrarily that would be foreign to him
Therefore, somewhere in this world, silence takes over
This little boy whose whole life has been built on lies and disruption
I have hair
past
my shoulders
and I’m about to
shave my head
because nothing lasts
long.
If I said that you were perfect,
you'd just shrug it off again,
but that's what springs to mind love,
whenever I hear your name.
If I told you how much I like you,
you'd laugh and just say 'cute',
but never the less I like you,
and it's a feeling I can't refute.
If I asked you to be mine,
your no would be nothing new,
but I'll still forever know that,
my heart belongs to you,
yet most were in april, searched for winter

find one will have to insert it. most days are busy,

i am the only one to do it, unless i pay.



searching for meaning, it may be there is none.



loving our homes, rituals and bad spellling

we carry on, carry one.



sbm.
 Aug 2016 Mariana Nolasco
Vitæ
You fill me,
with your  eyes,
so I
gaze at you
with mine.

You trust me
with all your heart,
so I
entrust you
with mine.

You love me
deep in your soul,
and I
love you with
all of mine.
I tear at the flesh and cut the skin away. I pull out my life's blood and let it drip on to a page. I pour my being into the words I speak. I let that which lives in me give rise to imagination. I bear my soul to the paper and pierce my arm with the quill. I let the blood become my ink and let the pen do it's will. Putting the essence of myself into each word and phrase. I give from my beating heart that which courses through my veins.
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