"leech" poems
''
Sand and stones between my bones.
Today the sun never shone.
Look how beautiful I am.
Chop, chop, chopped wood in the fireplace.
Don't get too close if you want to keep your face.
Be careful not to burn yourself.
It gives a certain warmth
And brings a certain want.
I would, yet I can't enjoy it by myself.
Royal blue like the winter hue.
My skin is merely bruised.
Can you still see how many times I've been hurt?
That winter depression.
Makes me want you as my new obsession.
Come in even if it's colder than outside.
Melt, melt me, I'm a letdown.
Having a meltdown.
I am melting under your fiery touch.
Snow flakes the skin.
I am in for a win.
What a special snowflake I am, wouldn't you say?
My heart is surrounded by splinters,
It shouldn't, yet it get's me through the winter.
Between my arms it's chiller, why don't you come hither?
Take a bite of me with your ice chipped teeth.
Swallow me up like a leech.
Red blood gauges from my blue veins.
Guess I'm not that royal anyway.
Hide it before you can complain.
-
Too late.
You already know the taste.
"
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 2:23 PM UTC
'Why is it so painful to grow?'
A seed.
Just a seed buried under the ground.
Under the pressure of the soil,
It fights to grow.
The seed cracks,
such a sturdy little seed,
opens with a painful snap.
A sprout coils out.
Out of the cracked little seed.
A sprout now crushed under,
Under the pressure of the unforgiving ground.
Yet still... It grows.
A little sprout,
Now reaches up.
Up and away from the little seed,
and up to the light of the sun.
Pushing and groaning it bursts out.
Out from the unforgiving ground.
Yet now new dangers are to be found.
Will it be trampled
Or eaten alive?
The possibilities are endless,
The ways it could die.
And still.. it grows.
The sprout toils endlessly,
always stretching and growing
Reaching for the crimson sun.
The rain falls down
beating upon the sprout.
Pelting it's skin and whipping it about.
It skin hardens painfully,
and sprout becomes stem.
And still It grows.
The stem keeps reaching,
Stretching to the sky.
The stem then splits
It rips in two a bud appears
A little bud,
With so much to do.
Then the bud breaks
A crack appears
a petal unfurls from within.
Then it's a bloom.
Such a sweet little thing.
Until the crack stretches
So the bloom can grow
In to the beautiful rose
We've all come to know.
And still.. it grows.
Thorns burst free
Breaking out of the stem
And petals billow and grow in the breeze.
Then you see me,
And my beauty delights you,
So you wish to see me every day.
And your scissors encircle me
To give you your way.
They cut me in half.
They slice me in two.
being a rose,
There was naught I could do.
You carry me with you,
Your hands coated in my blood,
I'm dying slowly,
All for your love.
And now... I can't grow.
So as I bleed and wither in pain,
You place me in a vase
Or press me in a book,
All to save the bloom for another day.
And as I gasp for air,
Among your dry pages,
You leech me of all life,
Perfectly preserved
just so I could last the ages.
Or else I am drowning
In glass and water
My beauty wasted
hour by hour
Day by day
All to satisfy your whimsical ways.
And now all I wish to know,
'Why is it so painful to grow?'
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
**** the voices on TV that scare us into depression
**** the killers ravaging the innocent and the gentle
**** the institutions placing us into corners
**** the religions trying to sterilize our minds
**** the powerful that feed on greed and power
**** the lazy that leech off the hardworking
**** the women who use men for ***
**** the men who use women for ***
**** the people that don't believe that you are strong
**** the weakness in you that you know you can defeat
**** the false prophets of false beliefs
**** those who do not respect
**** those who do not love
**** the apathetic
**** the lazy
**** the rich
**** the poor
**** the dead
**** the alive
**** the miserable
**** the happy
**** those who say that life is not finite
**** those who say that life is not beautiful
**** everyone
**** yourself
**** death
**** all that does not make you a better person
**** all that does not help bring happiness to others
**** all that does not make you smile
**** all that does not make you weep
**** all that does not make you feel alive
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of a vulture. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the ***** whale, and the ***** whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I never want to be away from you again, except at work, in the restroom or when one of us is at a movie the other does not want to see.
I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where we once were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and no matter how I am discovered after what happens to me as I am discovering this.
I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world.
I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong.
I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday.
Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.
Life will never end when you are in it.”
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
than the one you loved.
than the liar
than the fool
than the unfaithful
than the bored
than the lonely
than the desperate
than the selfish
than the leech
than the cowardly
than the lifeless
than the confused
than all of them.
"you deserve so much better"
isn't that what you said?
funny how it feels as though
maybe I've heard that somewhere before...
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 1:29 AM UTC
Genocide
Flying, eight tall, beautiful spires ascend towards the sky
onto a thin silk wire of silver and white.
Lovely it rises so high.
Why must we **** the spider to save the butterfly?
to keep that sacred silence?
to savor your favored violence?
never far...
The floating bird touches the golden beach.
A medicine man welcomes them with open arms,
but from the belly of the beast comes a leech
with butterfly wings
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 8:39 PM UTC
The only way I know how to describe depression
to people who don't understand what it is like,
is by telling them
"Imagine,
you had this awful ache
inside of your soul.
It embeds itself so deep,
like the darkest, most painful bruise you ever received,
but it has attached itself like a leech, to your soul.
It is a part of you,
constantly throbbing,
which makes other parts of your body hurt.
As the throbbing in you soul continues,
it branches off into your head, where it grows like a ****
Your brain starts to throb to the point where you can almost feel it
becoming too large for your skull to contain.
You almost want to do unthinkable things,
to release all the pressure in your head.
The throbbing continues into all your muscles.
Every move is painful and draining.
You go about your life, into the world as a normal person
putting on a facade,
when really,
you can't even fathom how you are taking every step and every breath.
You are just one big ball of throbbing energy.
Now imagine feeling that everyday."
That is the only way I can describe it.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
Sanguine
Choleric
Melancholic
Phlegmatic
Phlegmatic
Melancholic
Choleric
Sanguine
Blood oranges
And hibiscus tea
White wine
Carcrash memory
Hypertensive
He straps me down on the table
This is for my own good.
Too much blood they say,
Too much red wine too much liquid
Too much
My hand is swollen
My stomach distended
The vein in my forehead is bulging
Too much blood
A needle
A leech
A pen
Blood oranges
White wine
A needle is a leech is a pen
Is what the doctor ordered
He straps me to the desk
This is for my own good
A cure
Too much blood
Too much tea
Too many memories
Too many thoughts
Hypertensive
Sanguine
They say
They hand me the scalpel
And show me the line
Too much
I’ve had too too much red wine
To be doing this
A pen a leech a needle
A bucket of blood
A novel
Sanguine
Melancholic
Choleric
Phlegmatic
This is the cure
This is for my own good
Too much much blood
They hand me the pen
I’ve had too too many
Blood oranges
To be doing this
A scalpel is a pen
Is a leech is a needle
A bucket of blood is a novel
(Bleeding is the cure)
I bleed.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC
sleep with me
in the most innocent sense of the word.
lay by my side
and envelop me
in the sanctuary of your arms.
let me leech your heat
and bury my face into your chest.
run your fingers down my spine
and whisper sweet nothings into my hair.
play with my hair
and hold me close.
sing softly to me
as my eyelids droop.
take me with you
into the dream land
where love is easy
and i can kiss you without interruption.
wake me up with butterfly kisses
and morning breath that smells sweet to me.
kiss me on the nose before you get out of bed
and tell me you'll see me tonight.
i'll lay by myself
in a bed that's cold now
and count the seconds
until i get to sleep with you again.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
As I lay here in the dark of this room
in a city that's broken my heart over and over and over again
(or is it the other way around?),
I wonder why I keep coming back?
Am I trying to retrace history in order to
somehow rewrite it?
This love affair has been
tumbling along to Nowheresville
since the late 90s,
before it was a dream.
(Except in Portland).
Every corner, every amusement, every mid-afternoon sun break
has a memory attached to it,
like a
leech.
The flashbacks twist and turn
and tickle and
feel hot and sharp -
laced with the bittersweet taste of
melancholy and remorse.
Shame.
Embarrassment.
Self-Destruction.
face palm
It's almost like every breath I take here
is in sync with me
lashing myself
RAW -
because, for some reason,
I deserve it.
I want this city to love me as much as I love it.
I want this city to embrace me as much as I embrace it.
I want it to want me,
as much as I want
it.
Or, maybe I just need to
Get
A
Clue.
It could be that....
Seattle
Is
Just
Not
That
Into
You.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:16 AM UTC
i seem to only see three constellations in the night
sky these days... the modo -
it be the sign of: the age of scorpio,
there's but the big & little dipper (respectively)
º
º
º
º
º
º
º
do these people really need to be spoon fed?
the smaller dipper is akin to the big
dipper, hence to write in the other
and last constellation (minus that odd rhombus
without a name) -
and believe me when i say: orthodox
astrology doesn't agree with me:
º
º
º
º
º
º º
i guess i managed to draw the right
schematic,
besides the point, there are but
three constellations in the night sky
around here, and one is a revisionist take
on the scorpio...
**** you hippies, and your age of aquarius,
this is what a scorpion looks like,
and nothing what you've indicated,
i'm starting to think that astrologists
did poorly in geometry class...
but i'll end it on a positive note...
*there is more dignity in being ascribed an
epitaph, than being given a "proper" burial...*
and by "proper" i mean: the leech family
members waiting for inheritance,
the sycophantic actors of attendance -
throw me into a mass grave, i don't mind
for a "proper" burial...
there is no dignity in whatever burial
ensues as many will do...
but allow man to transcend
the date of birth ** / yy / zz
and the date of death zz / yy / **
with an epitaph...
however "wise" the man was in life,
his dignity only arrives postmortem,
in the form of an epitaph...
but one epitaph overshadows a thousand
quotable mentions of the man, when alive,
but one epitaph of a david,
overcomes the oeuvre of maxims of a goliath.
whatever argument for light pollution exists,
even when in the scottish highlands
i didn't see any more stars...
there are only three constellations in play
on the night sky,
and one of them is the genuine scorpio
constellation,
with the orthodox constellation being
bogus, fake, unnecessary...
i, i've spotted the constellation of scorpio,
and i did so: with my naked eyes!
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 8:21 PM UTC
One
I hate myself.
Two
I'm scared to sleep at night because whenever I close my eyes it's as if the ruthless words of hatred and disgust that you throw at me relentlessly replay over and over in my head as if it was a broken record perched on the top of a dusty shelf that isn't within a reachable distance.
Three
I don't know who I am anymore. I lost her somewhere within this sea of sadness I plunged myself into.
Four
Fat, Ugly, Worthless. Fat, Ugly, Worthless. Fat, Ugly, Worthless. These are the words that taunt me everyday and latch onto me like a bloodthirsty leech that just found a new piece of flesh to feed off of.
Five
Whenever somebody tells me to be who I am and that they won't judge. I laugh. I laugh because being who I am is just a distant memory. I cant be who I am because I lost when I skipped my first meal. I lost who I was when I learned what it felt like to genuinely hate myself. I lost myself when I learned how to numb myself so that I feel nothing at all. Now here I am in present time, curled up in a ball of my own self pity, crying out all the feelings I wish I had.
Six
Somedays, I wish I could find the me that loves me, but I can't because the horrid words that you uttered to me stabbed her over and over again relentlessly and when you finally walked away, she stood there bleeding out all the love and trust she used to have.
Seven
I hate telling people how I really feel because they take it as a yearning for attention, not a cry for help. I hate telling people how I feel because they would treat me as if I was a problem and not a human.
Eight
I just wish that someone would paint on me as if I were a blank canvas and turn me into something magnificent because I am tired of continuously painting
myself in hopes that my tear-stained cheeks, lifeless eyes, and pain will turn me into the beautiful girl society expects me to be.
Nine
I just wish I was normal.
-b.c.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
Sometimes I’m afraid of being sick
Afraid that what I am has a name
Afraid that I helped create a term
Sometimes I feel it
Feel the me that decays
Feel the heart that pumps the rot around
Sometimes I wonder if my decomposition can slow
Wonder if my blood needs thinning
Wonder if I need a leech so as not to rot
Sometimes I feel
Sometimes I wonder
Then I remember that this sometimes does not matter
Because death is certainly permanent
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
Who is the world to define mine right or wrong?
I am the one who decides it on my own
The world a crazy place, people so weird
Finding faults everywhere, while hiding in their beard
When you stand for the right,
They will advocate the wrong
Justifying the same
With million excuses in their thong
Nirbhaya ***** they say girl was characterless
Skirts, shorts, boyfriend, night shows - shameless
And inchoate, rightly arousing men to ****
One in coma now a four year old gang *****
Society mum when humanity disgraced???
Where are the people of so called decent family?
Who judge n criticize from hair to lamellae
If smoking kills, why is it not banned??
Beef eaters killed, man eaters praised on the land
Alcohol, marijuana bad for health
While more people die from terrorist attacks
Crores are spent to maintain a terrorist
To a soldier dying for the country, not even lakhs
A rich is a witch flaunting their gold
A poor a leech for things they cannot afford?
Without external beauty a person is a waste?
Your pennyless pocket how shall I grade?
Other’s loss is a righteous act of God?
Yours is a tragedy, unfortunate loss???
And then you have religion & morals
To justify your notions
Right or wrong, judgement filled oceans
I am a free spirit,
Born not to please your beliefs
Enough of hypocrite world I see
Killing and dividing on castes and creeds.
© Dr. PRERNA SINGLA, 13 Oct. 2015
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
612
It would have starved a Gnat—
To live so small as I—
And yet I was a living Child—
With Food’s necessity
Upon me—like a Claw—
I could no more remove
Than I could coax a Leech away—
Or make a Dragon—move—
Not like the Gnat—had I—
The privilege to fly
And seek a Dinner for myself—
How mightier He—than I—
Nor like Himself—the Art
Upon the Window Pane
To gad my little Being out—
And not begin—again—
3.3k
An amorphous cave hides behind a cascading flow of crystalline blue, sparkling and shining like radiant glass.
Inside the incandescent cave, an effervescent and ephemeral scent of dulcet cinnamon coalesces into the air of the inside of this seemingly halcyon cave.
The feelings, the emotions, the sights, all too inexorable in it's ineffable reality. It calls out, with it's mellifluous and beautiful, languid and sirenic voice, incandescent with epiphany,
"Come child of man, meet me, greet me, welcome me, me as the idyllic felicity some dare to even dream of, and then let me embrace you and enrapture you and encompass you in my incorporeal and frozen, evanescent tranquility."
This ephemeral and serene cave now even murmurs and sings a tranquil symphony suffused with rhapsodic zeniths.
It... It truly was ephemeral...
A horrible shriek, a shrill and a repulsive and repugnant and rancid smell. A decrepit cacophony of hollow, anguished wailing and screaming. Pain at my soul, and a harsh, hoarse and coarse voice filled with slaughter and cataclysm. A grotesque, hirsute maladroit leech, visceral and shunned from everything and everyone, even the Earth itself...
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
it's all in the details, shadows tracing shapes
of ghosts of past demons seductive with
wide eyes of warm brown flecked moss green
whisper in my ears of delusions and grandeur
while fingertips trace burning lines in
the well worn patterns on my back
temptress, succubus, leech, smooth with
manipulative cunning and dangerous beauty
a haunting promise to kiss the poison lips
of a night filled with fool's gold memories
left in the morning with an empty chest
and entrails that went west with the setting sun
with the greatest beauty, and grasping claws
silk sharp nails hooked in flesh and conscious thought
leave me from your deceptions and lies
my sweet Lilith, I am but a disposable distraction
naught but a notch in your bed
you left with my mind and my heart
left my body but an empty shell
a wraith wandering this grey plane
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 10:38 AM UTC
They'll find me hanging upside-down.
Ankles bruised by the ropes
From which you strung me up for field dressing.
Lacerations where you’d cut my throat,
Bled me dry, spilt my guts,
And broke past my ribs, to uproot my heart.
Can they carbon date the remains of my reputation?
Trace the ****** back to your mouth?
Will they know the cause of death to be the
Malignant rumors you couldn’t help but spew?
Your false words: the final nail in my coffin.
Do you regret ever letting them past your lips?
Slowly, my reputation crippled by the aggressive
Cancer that was your embellished utterance.
And it didn’t bother you in the slightest.
You marveled at the sight of my struggle.
And amazing how these things seem to spread.
One caustic, contagious, breath from you was all it took.
Though the slanderous virus wouldn't make it 'til morning;
Addicts to their fix; gossips, crave your empty words.
Like ******* the rush is intense but brief.
Interest fleeting, they move on.
Off to the next peddler.
For all these inconveniences, I thank you.
Thank you for lifting the masks that curtained your distorted self.
How blind I must have been not to see it outright.
Another leech, feeding on slighted words.
And to think; all it costed you to buy in
Was me...
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
A surface gleams its slick ripples,
Solid liquid covering varied depths,
Frigid water held strong to the reflection of sky.
Held steady in gray by overcasts,
That hide the blemishes on this day.
Crack a warning, glints of sarcasm pierce the eye.
Somewhere below live antique creatures,
Demons of yesterday encapsulated.
Slow with slime and cold with sleep,
They dream of spring, dream of a thaw.
When sunshine blasts the sound of life,
Screams an alarm none dare not keep.
The slow shift strains patience,
Green bubbles from woody mottled arms.
Here and there come the arthropods,
Beginning their feast upon new bounty.
Finding themselves delicacies to another,
The flying predator of the mighty worms.
Singing sweet songs that bring dismay,
From April to June sometimes beyond.
Summer arrives in time to sear,
Tears from this repressed eyesight,
The cold winter from the dark water,
Which breed parasites unknowingly to pester.
Teasing sanity of forest dwelling fauna,
To fester in the skin as a tick or leech.
Drawing life out into the open plane,
Whittling down strength for another day
As we lay out the bitter harvest,
As we find another season of complaint.
Reed Bass
January 5, 2008
Nov 14, 2009
Nov 14, 2009 at 3:06 PM UTC
I stick my fingers in my throat
and throw up a basket of swallowed suns;
under it, my tongue is parched and pinned in place
like a dried house moth on an entomologist’s hand
that nurses it back to life
and demands devotion in return,
a poem in return.
But I have purged the feeling being out of me
like a cold, cold man now averse to the ways of his younger lover
who is alive for all of it — the lust and the starving kisses
and the quiet deaths in the morning only to haunt at night.
I leave letters for my bitten nails without meaning a single word,
and go to lie with the superficiality, the hypocrisy nesting under my tongue.
I have started writing poems again — see where they take me this time
and find myself here, once more
where a fool unpacks her baggage and out I come rolling
like a dead body with a foaming mouth, a brown moth burning under the sun,
a leech that scurries under salt and needles,
slowly eroding like sanity.
She thinks, therefore, she is, they say,
but at what cost? She looks on and pens this poem
with a tiny smile on her lips.
Jul 18, 2022
Jul 18, 2022 at 8:24 PM UTC
don't get on my nerves
kiddo it
ain't your mother's
fault that you're
a sucker
daddys come like
torpedos
daddys are
torpedos
who are you though?
no sweet toddler
no child
no youngster
i don't give a **** about
you
i am your daddy kiddo
i am a torpedo kiddo
don't gimme that family
********
you ain't nothing but a
kiddo
fortyfive year old
hangaround
deadbeat
***
leech
you're the harmless
version
toothless dracula
couldn't care less
about you
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 3:17 PM UTC
Mommy why, i was just barely opening my heart to you
Mommy you see me through the screen beating my life to you
120 beats per second ,faster than your heart mommy.
Mommy, I feel your smile broaden
Mommy I will love you conditionally
**Moommyy what is this clamp mommy ,
please don't it hurts it hurts please mommy**
Seven Weeks , Three Days Pregnant
I lost you my precious , Words will never define the darkness I feel in my heart . The darkness of how unloving my heart became, How heartless humanity was around me like infectious leech. Letting you go was the consequences of the bite. Please forgive me, I made the biggest mistake in my life. The one mistake, where you won't grow up to learn from. What was left of my heart became stone cold , I let go my true shot of happiness, but I couldn't bring you into a world of brokenness and despair. You deserve better, but better than you will ever receive from me. One day I hope you understand. I promise you , my love lies deep in my veins. I love you ,Heaven needed you back and I regret not standing like warrior and fighting for you. I never will wash dirt on my back,I can never stop apologizing for the vicious attacks you endured by me . Every sunrise and sunset I will forever mourn the death of my own humanity against you.
One last breath,Mommy, I love you Forever
I'll float down the river ,patiently waiting for ocean to wash me into abyss , humming to the lullaby,I would have sang to you my precious gift.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 4:20 AM UTC
Little monster couldn’t walk quite right
Her legs ached and burned at times
The healer didn’t have a cure
And the ones at “home” said it’s nothing more
Than monster’s own creation because
She’s a wretched creature displaying loss,
Always a burden for the ones who care
And no more did they want to bear.
“Little monster, you filthy girl,
Leave the house and find some work.
You leech at our money, our love and care,
And then complain of pain everywhere.
You despicable monster, weak of mind,
what will you gain from studying time?
I wish you’d leave right now, but wait,
You’ll only ruin your family’s name.
We came together for your happiness,
You hateful thing, why do you make a mess?
“I’m in pain, I’m in pain” it’s nothing but a ploy
You little worm, with emotions you toy.
Leave, you ***** get off my mind,
You know no love, so how can you find
Pain in my words, you’re just a rock,
I wish you’d die, you ruinous block.”
Monster girl fled from those words
‘I’m alright’ she said till she was numb.
In this vast world she felt alone,
With trees she talked of finding more.
Her body ached as she fell to the ground
Watched the stars till it was cold around.
A piece of glass was what she could own
Without being a weight on other souls.
This jagged piece reflected the light
From the moon and thousand fireflies,
Little girl thought the world was so nice,
But alas, she was just a monster in night.
She heard from the house her father’s voice
As he talked about her as a screeching noise,
She rarely spoke and yet she was
The pain in the ears of the ones she loved.
I won’t cry anymore, she pledged,
Her room alone knew that she wept,
So often times she thought of hanging herself
But she wasn’t sure she could bear being out of breath.
And so it was she held a piece of glass,
Shimmering, it seemed like her freedom at last,
If only she was a human girl,
Pretty and lovable, she wouldn’t hurt.
Little monster girl smiled to herself
She wouldn’t cause pain to other selves,
The stars would remember that she had tried,
The sun would know she had no respite.
The glass glided over her soft dark skin,
Where only bruises marked her wrist thin,
Little drops of blood became more,
Little monster thought of happy lores.
“And they lived happily after” she mumbled quiet,
Her dark eyes closed to moonlight,
A firefly sat on her cold forehead
Thinking her to be a creature dead.
As the mist rose, she fell asleep,
The moon watched over her peaceful dreams.
As the moon’s lover rose
So did she,
To the worst nightmare that could ever be.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC