Deyalyn Batista May 2014
My hands are red and sticky from trying too hard,
I can feel them losing grip around your wrists.
Whose blood is it, anyway?
Dripping on the concrete,
Swirling down the drain,
Staining our soles.
Is it mine or is it yours?
Ominous Nov 2014
I’ll make you feel the heat of my blood,
but only when I feel yours
in my tongue.
Jicho Piramidi Mar 2015
People don't understand
Blood must flow for blood
Before it can allow water
But in the end
It will all turn to ice
luna Apr 2015
my blood
is like honey on bones
it drips down
like an ice cream cone
Hamad Jun 2014
Blood must not merely follow routine, must not
just flow as the veins' uninterrupted
river. Sometimes it must flood the eyes,
surprise them by being clear as water.
Half-Inch
Petra Horvath Apr 2014
They can see through the glass
Our lips are dripping blood
From telling all these lies
And we both know
That we've really done it this time

*P.H
BLESSED be this place,
More blessed still this tower;
A bloody, arrogant power
Rose out of the race
Uttering, mastering it,
Rose like these walls from these
Storm-beaten cottages --
In mockery I have set
A powerful emblem up,
And sing it rhyme upon rhyme
In mockery of a time
HaIf dead at the top.
Alexandria's was a beacon tower, and Babylon's
An image of the moving heavens, a log-book of the
sun's journey and the moon's;
And Shelley had his towers, thought's crowned powers
he called them once.
I declare this tower is my symbol; I declare
This winding, gyring, spiring treadmill of a stair is my
ancestral stair;
That Goldsmith and the Dean, Berkeley and Burke
have travelled there.
Swift beating on his breast in sibylline frenzy blind
Because the heart in his blood-sodden breast had
dragged him down into mankind,
Goldsmith deliberately sipping at the honey-pot of his
mind,
And haughtier-headed Burke that proved the State a
tree,
That this unconquerable labyrinth of the birds, cen-
tury after century,
Cast but dead leaves to mathematical equality;
And God-appointed Berkeley that proved all things a
dream,
That this pragmatical, preposterous pig of a world, its
farrow that so solid seem,
Must vanish on the instant if the mind but change its
theme;
Saeva Indignatio and the labourer's hire,
The strength that gives our blood and state magnani-
mity of its own desire;
Everything that is not God consumed with intellectual
fire.
III
The purity of the unclouded moon
Has flung its atrowy shaft upon the floor.
Seven centuries have passed and it is pure,
The blood of innocence has left no stain.
There, on blood-saturated ground, have stood
Soldier, assassin, executioner.
Whether for daily pittance or in blind fear
Or out of abstract hatred, and shed blood,
But could not cast a single jet thereon.
Odour of blood on the ancestral stair!
And we that have shed none must gather there
And clamour in drunken frenzy for the moon.

IV
Upon the dusty, glittering windows cling,
And seem to cling upon the moonlit skies,
Tortoiseshell butterflies, peacock butterflies,
A couple of night-moths are on the wing.
Is every modern nation like the tower,
Half dead at the top? No matter what I said,
For wisdom is the property of the dead,
A something incompatible with life; and power,
Like everything that has the stain of blood,
A property of the living; but no stain
Can come upon the visage of the moon
When it has looked in glory from a cloud.
Josiah Wilson Jul 2013
Blood
Rushing through my veins
Pumping to my heart
Driving me insane

Blood
Giving me this life
Giving me my breath
Filling me with strife

Why am I still standing?
What do I have here?
Why am I so different?
I am only a mere
Human
Filled with blood
Filled with flesh
And all these bones

Blood
Flooding my insides
Filling up my lungs
There's nowhere I can hide

From this...
Blood
Alysia Michelle Apr 2014
tonight the shadows ate the moon
i sat there in awe as it was slowly consumed
little by little the brightness was devoured
and behind the shadows, the moon never cowered
the blood moon shined
as the sun and moon aligned
and the moonlight becomes you
you too are consumed
eyes bright and full of wonder
the cold wind makes you shudder
make a wish as the last sliver disappears .
let the music of the night fill your ears
Jo Nov 2014
Oh!  There it is!
The blood of my Mothers’
Sins
Blossoming on
My white sheets
Like a bouquet of English roses.
A shame -
Laundry day had
Been yesterday.  

My thighs have been painted
Rouge -
They blush
Like my cheeks
When my gaze
Lingers on my body
Too long in the mirror
As I put on my Sunday dress.

The needles in my
Lower back fill my
Uterus with blood -
I am a woman now -
And as such I must
Wake before the sun
And wash my sheets
And my body
Before anyone has a chance
To smell the iron and the shame
Between my legs.  

I have never been so
Acutely aware of my body:
My sore breasts feel like
Overripe tomatoes ready to burst,
My stomach bloated and taking up
Space I’m told is not ladylike -
My head throbs, my limbs ache, and
I continue to shed my insides.
How is it I never noticed
The cry of my body before?

A week of blood
Before I have served my sentence
For a woman
Who dared to disobey -
I clean the stains
And wash myself
Away.
I may come back to this later.
Ashley Somebody Nov 2014
They always tell me,
Blood is thicker than water:
But the salt in me
Is the salt of the great sea
Tied of ropes thicker than blood.
Ariana Sweeney Apr 2014
Blood doesn't mean
Anything anymore.
I wish black and blue ink
Would drip from
Every open wound
And pool together
to create
A tangle
Of
Pain,
Pleasure,
Purpose,
And make words
That mean nothing
To anyone but myself.
LC Oct 2014
Never sure which,
flows in my veins,
think it may be blood,

but there's no colour when it spills.*


~LC~
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