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"scathe" poems
Our Mothers, lovely women pitiful; Our Sisters, gracious in their life and death; To us each unforgotten memory saith: "Learn as we learned in life's sufficient school, Work as we worked in patience of our rule, Walk as we walked, much less by sight than faith, Hope as we hoped, despite our slips and scathe, Fearful in joy and confident in dule." I know not if they see us or can see; But if they see us in our painful day, How looking back to earth from Paradise Do tears not gather in those loving eyes?-- Ah, happy eyes! whose tears are wiped away Whether or not you bear to look on me.
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Our Mothers
. The oceans are dying, Coral reefs are bleached, Ghostly acidic in the seas, Climate is changing, not for Nero, But for subjects who wait in whirlwinds Eye, underneath uncapped mountain peaks, And water is draining underground.  Where is Reason, where is sense uncommon?  Not with Elected hands who are wringing to lords of zero, Whose legions are sent off, engaged in foreign wars, To scathe, faraway dramas brought back home, Politicians squabble, as they reel, cashing in, Seals of unapprovals, witness hollow, low rings, Infrastructure crumbles, above our dry heads, And Nero plays his fiddle, in a land of perky dead, John Lennon said NYC was in reality the new Rome, soon set to burn, in a decade or so, Nero knows, Nero plays, could give a feck' Humanity is Nero playing his fiery fiddle There is only one issue of news that matters, Not bread, or circus, Kardashians, or deflated Footballs, it is our survival, the earth, heating up, Is angry and we are small, deaf, blind and numb, A mankind of fools with Nero playing his fiddle.
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Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
Nero's World
1. New Year met me somewhat sad: Old Year leaves me tired, Stripped of favorite things I had, Balked of much desired: Yet farther on my road to-day, God willing, farther on my way. New Year coming on apace What have you to give me? Bring you scathe, or bring you grace, Face me with an honest face; You shall not deceive me: Be it good or ill, be it what you will, It needs shall help me on my road, My rugged way to heaven, please God. 2. Watch with me, men, women, and children dear, You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear, Watch with me this last vigil of the year. Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme; Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream; Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart. Watch with me, blessed spirits, who delight All through the holy night to walk in white, Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight. I know not if they watch with me: I know They count this eve of resurrection slow, And cry, "How long?" with urgent utterance strong. Watch with me, Jesus, in my loneliness: Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes; Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless. Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night; To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight: I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord, my God, art mine. 3. Passing away, saith the World, passing away: Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day: Thy life never continueth in one stay. Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to gray That hath won neither laurel nor bay? I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May: Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay On my ***** for aye. Then I answered: Yea. Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away: With its burden of fear and hope, of labor and play; Hearken what the past doth witness and say: Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array, A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay. At midnight, at cock-crow, at morning, one certain day Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay: Watch thou and pray. Then I answered: Yea. Passing away, saith my God, passing away: Winter passeth after the long delay: New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray, Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May. Though I tarry, wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray. Arise, come away, night is past, and lo it is day, My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say. Then I answered: Yea.
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Old And New Year Ditties
1. New Year met me somewhat sad: Old Year leaves me tired, Stripped of favorite things I had, Balked of much desired: Yet farther on my road to-day, God willing, farther on my way. New Year coming on apace What have you to give me? Bring you scathe, or bring you grace, Face me with an honest face; You shall not deceive me: Be it good or ill, be it what you will, It needs shall help me on my road, My rugged way to heaven, please God. 2. Watch with me, men, women, and children dear, You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear, Watch with me this last vigil of the year. Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme; Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream; Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart. Watch with me, blessed spirits, who delight All through the holy night to walk in white, Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight. I know not if they watch with me: I know They count this eve of resurrection slow, And cry, "How long?" with urgent utterance strong. Watch with me, Jesus, in my loneliness: Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes; Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless. Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night; To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight: I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord, my God, art mine. 3. Passing away, saith the World, passing away: Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day: Thy life never continueth in one stay. Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to gray That hath won neither laurel nor bay? I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May: Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay On my ***** for aye. Then I answered: Yea. Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away: With its burden of fear and hope, of labor and play; Hearken what the past doth witness and say: Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array, A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay. At midnight, at cock-crow, at morning, one certain day Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay: Watch thou and pray. Then I answered: Yea. Passing away, saith my God, passing away: Winter passeth after the long delay: New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray, Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May. Though I tarry, wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray. Arise, come away, night is past, and lo it is day, My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say. Then I answered: Yea.
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Capillaries are the river's replacements In the basement of these globes are  roads life has yet to probe pave or scathe wraiths roam at gloam with forlorn echos etched into morning dew Their worldly remains lost in-between Osiris' domain
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Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
Forsaken World
The doors slid aside at Métro 1, A interminable tube driven by an inhumane robot, To take hundreds to their lovers, their homes, their offices. A girl fantasying about her lover, A man scathe in love, An old woman enamored with The Price of Salt, facing the young man with a Kindle spirit. A foreign girl with passion for the city, slides through the crowd, And an indigenous man wished he was somewhere else than here. At the next stop a man bids a farewell kiss to her girlfriend. And in comes a middle-aged couple, Enters in with a hatred for one another. I stood for my final stop, the doors slid aside, and I got down. A couple of goodbye words to these swaths of strangers, who color my dark life with smiles and tears. "Farewell strangers, I shall meet you another day at another time."
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Feb 7, 2021
Feb 7, 2021 at 6:29 PM UTC
Palais Royale to Porte Maillot
You didn't **** me tonight With your eyes so fair You chained me like a sprite With no soul to bare You fill my heart and flow through my veins They break their banks Inducing and flowing with haste Enticing the summer rains Explosions from my sheets conceal my flood of tears Those looks you once gave as gifts Stab my eyes like harpoon Scathe my flesh like spears Into your fateful arms, I embark an embrace With bristles I am swept with wool To find me in the mind of a fool With no tracks, no, not even a trace.
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Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
Untitled
Unworthy. Unwanted. Unloved. I am human, yes. But I am not a person. A person is someone. I am no one. I am as significant as a grain of salt in the sea. As missed as the first rain drop of the flood. My own government has told me I am insignificant. Unworthy of the protection given to my kin. All because of who I am within. I am not a person. I am a sin. A disease to be executed. Before I can infect. A human with a defect. I am unbeknownst to my brothers. Walking up and down steps a stranger. My true feelings unwanted. I am needed for my smile, Giving others sun, while drowning in denial. So unloved that my own parents sit in silence. Saying they don't want to hurt me, While their unsounding words scathe deep. Feelings as unexplored as fathoms, forced to only steep. Unprepared for the world, Undecided in who I am, Unwilling to admit, that I am unhappy. I am an unperson. I do not matter. Sitting alone, while my whole world is untethered. I am unwelcome to this place, and to my mind. Forced to leave unexpressed, As my sanity is undefined.
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Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
Unperson
go ahead and take my voice for truth lighthearted fantasies of what could be scathe or vision with the empty touch of honesty reaching out through emotion and words alone never feeling so much of what we'd like to know is wanted impossible to deny the interpretation raw with passionate dissonance and it is sought without moving stagnant with patience a belief that something more awaits if taken, the leap and we speak in the night together, alone we seek each other out time and time again but logic has no home here mired with a false fate but never empty with hope something we see inside ourselves and each other agonizing lust and passion creeping through the cold trying to find a fire for the spark to ignite every intention and the heart chokes on the meanings of it all instead we settle to constantly move together seething motivation through desire the fear of regret thick in the blood the heart pumps harder, quicker, hotter treading on, constantly seeking, hearing, knowing coloring empty pages of a book neither of us have read with a sincerity we have no privilege to own yet and our conversations flow like a stream of heart and mind carrying us further past the point of no return the waterfall echoing in the distance with raw reality exuded from nowhere we expect to see ourselves but the aching desire to embrace it all rocks me to the core and I am ready to drown in it all just to know exactly the meaning behind every word we share
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Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
conversations
. The oceans are dying, Coral reefs are bleached, Ghostly acidic in the seas, Climate is changing, not for Nero, But for subjects who wait in whirlwinds Eye, underneath uncapped mountain peaks, And water is draining underground. Where is Reason, where is sense uncommon? Not with Elected hands who are wringing to lords of zero, Whose legions are sent off, engaged in foreign wars, To scathe, faraway dramas brought back home, Politicians squabble, as they reel, cashing in, Seals of unapprovals, witness hollow, low rings, Infrastructure crumbles, above our dry heads, And Nero plays his fiddle, in a land of perky dead, John Lennon said NYC was in reality the new Rome, soon set to burn, in a decade or so, Nero knows, Nero plays, could give a feck' Humanity is Nero playing his fiery fiddle There is only one issue of news that matters, Not bread, or circus, Kardashians, or deflated Footballs, it is our survival, the earth, heating up, Is angry and we are small, deaf, blind and numb, A mankind of fools with Nero playing his fiddle.
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Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 6:07 PM UTC
Nero's World
Seeing you and her together would certainly scathe a lot It is seeing the epitome of everything we're not But may be better than not seeing you at all Except in the photographs hanging on my wall You sent a message (I haven't bothered to read) The first three words; "Amanda I need" No apology for torturing me bad That made me pretty mad I've liked always talking to you Was on a ledge with a helluva view But I am determined never to jump I'm not going to hit the ground with a thump I will not let you control me anymore Best way to do that is to ignore I hate the way I am under your magic spell There's nothing that can save me from this hell
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Feb 2, 2024
Feb 2, 2024 at 11:45 AM UTC
Seeing
Got a secret? Can you keep it? Bury it deep in your grave. Or I’ll knit a doll with ****** stitches, Stern vows and broken wishes— Bury it deep, or rot in the ditches. Turning from my trustful gaze, My thoughts twist through a thorny maze. Calculating your faith, As I sharpen my scathe. Voices rise, a cursed din, My ears trace every whispering sin. Giggles fade, joy is peeled, Just then, I know— Your fate is sealed. I wonder, Why do we commit our darkest deeds, then tell? The burn in our brains becomes a living hell. I know you’ll tell. I KNOW YOU’LL TELL. Heart racing, humanity fading, As I approach you, internally cascading. Silent night, stone-cold face. SUDDENLY— Burgundy flows, sins atoned for. My shirt stained, With the weight of what I now bore. No regret to shred, Only two can keep a secret when one of them is dead.
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Feb 18, 2025
Feb 18, 2025 at 9:05 AM UTC
Got a secret ?
// I shed a lot of tears today. I am not going to lie. Although, it's been a while my heart still sobs at the thought of your name. I've lost so much trying to win you. Trying to achieve you. Trying to conquer you. Most importantly, I have lost myself. The broken pieces of my heart are still trying to fix themselves back. Thinking about it now, I realize that I had completely placed my self aside and paid no attention to the scathe you were causing to my body. There was no other pain greater than your despondency. I adored you a lot. You asked me what it was that I had for you and I failed to put it in words back then which I rue a lot. What I had for you was sacrificial, ferocious, wild and untamed filled with devotion and grace. Some people experience their first love at a very young age and it feels like one heck of a gaiety doesn't it? I did too. But you kept stabbing my heart with your unfermented words and abhorrent actions and let sadness embrace me. My little pumping machine got scarred for life as I let you take advantage of my kindness. I kept quiet hoping that you would realize my worth and run back to me. Stupid wasn't I ? There was a time when I didn't want to wake up in the morning. The sunlight would burn my eyes which had turned red due to weeping all night. I would snuggle into my blanket not wanting to get off the bed. Not wanting to face the world without you. It's said that every individual leaves a mark. You certainly did. But on my heart. Even though the cuts have healed and I feel happier than I have ever been the scars still remain. All the pastoral memories seem odious as they make me realize that you are not a part of my life anymore. Memories do slowly creep in at times and it's hard to forget them too. They pop up from nowhere even while taking a class or just when I am hanging out with friends. I guess it will still take a while to overcome those. I don't want you now. But I know at the age of eighty I'd be sitting on my favourite chair waiting for death to embrace me and hoping that atleast we would end up together in a parallel universe.
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Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 11:37 AM UTC
**~ First things first ~**
// I shed a lot of tears today. I am not going to lie. Although, it's been a while my heart still sobs at the thought of your name. I've lost so much trying to win you. Trying to achieve you. Trying to conquer you. Most importantly, I have lost myself. The broken pieces of my heart are still trying to fix themselves back. Thinking about it now, I realize that I had completely placed my self aside and paid no attention to the scathe you were causing to my body. There was no other pain greater than your despondency. I adored you a lot. You asked me what it was that I had for you and I failed to put it in words back then which I rue a lot. What I had for you was sacrificial, ferocious, wild and untamed filled with devotion and grace. Some people experience their first love at a very young age and it feels like one heck of a gaiety doesn't it? I did too. But you kept stabbing my heart with your unfermented words and abhorrent actions and let sadness embrace me. My little pumping machine got scarred for life as I let you take advantage of my kindness. I kept quiet hoping that you would realize my worth and run back to me. Stupid wasn't I ? There was a time when I didn't want to wake up in the morning. The sunlight would burn my eyes which had turned red due to weeping all night. I would snuggle into my blanket not wanting to get off the bed. Not wanting to face the world without you. It's said that every individual leaves a mark. You certainly did. But on my heart. Even though the cuts have healed and I feel happier than I have ever been the scars still remain. All the pastoral memories seem odious as they make me realize that you are not a part of my life anymore. Memories do slowly creep in at times and it's hard to forget them too. They pop up from nowhere even while taking a class or just when I am hanging out with friends. I guess it will still take a while to overcome those. I don't want you now. But I know at the age of eighty I'd be sitting on my favourite chair waiting for death to embrace me and hoping that atleast we would end up together in a parallel universe.
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Recently I had a talk With the Lord of All Wish I could say I came away Feeling ten feet tall But instead what He said Made me feel small... I asked him why my dreams had died I asked him to convey Why blows were dealt below the belt It seems like every DAY Why my heart was torn apart Why did I have to pay? For what others had done to me. And WHY the cost so DEAR? When would the war be over? When would the coast be clear? Why so many PROBLEMS? Can't some just disappear? He said, "You want to know, my child? Why these knots still bind?" He was gentle, but yet firm. He took me back in time. To the root, where they'd begun And the causes? MINE. Are there times you've questioned? *YES! We ALL have done!* We want to shame. We want to blame. We want to scathe and shun We want to point the finger But now, the time's begun To look through eyes enlightened To peel the onion. Delve. TRUTH's not glass, but *mirror... in which we see OURSELVES.* SoulSurvivor (C) 3/29/2017
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Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 1:07 AM UTC
Mirror, Mirror
Or ever the knightly years were gone With the old world to the grave, I was a King in Babylon And you were a Christian Slave. I saw, I took, I cast you by, I bent and broke your pride. You loved me well, or I heard them lie, But your longing was denied. Surely I knew that by and by You cursed your gods and died. And a myriad suns have set and shone Since then upon the grave Decreed by the King in Babylon To her that had been his Slave. The pride I trampled is now my scathe, For it tramples me again. The old resentment lasts like death, For you love, yet you refrain. I break my heart on your hard unfaith, And I break my heart in vain. Yet not for an hour do I wish undone The deed beyond the grave, When I was a King in Babylon And you were a ****** Slave.
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To W. A.
*The Sun dies and is being reborn, and time, everytime In my inner soul, wincing, over the irrevocable Or the resilient lie I am relying on for so long—in vain— That, yes, maybe, I lost her. The thin moon shadows my comprehension, In memory of her. Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus Pluck the strings to no avail. A sweet sound withdrawn Is sharp, swift and scathe Beyond repair. Her glassy lips voided me inward. My heart—overgrown. Without her, the sand creeps upward, The vapors fume to rust And the thorny stars Turn to dust.* © 2015 J.S.P.
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Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
Immutable
I miss the times when you were here telling me to have no fear, to hold my head up high and strong, add happy notes to my sad song. I miss the way you looked at me as if I were too blind to see the path I was on might hurt and scathe But all goes well if you just have faith. I miss the sound of your voice through bitter times , a saving noise that told me what was right and wrong but rang in my ears for far too long. A caring person that helped and hurt me so much.. You'd guide and mislead me through the day. You left me lonely when I'd rather you stay.. Over things like that you had no control. A rock set in motion will continue to roll.. Then one day you never returned. My tears were so hot they burned. Aware now about what I lack, crying and mourning won't bring you back For me to let out what I need to say, I can't do much more than pray I no longer want to feel weak, my hearts been quite strong. I'm still adding a happy chorus to a sad, sad song.
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Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
Sad Song
That red ink That scathe our papers With apathetic marks of incorrection Or brings out the tone Merely if you had not Bought me that pen I wouldn't be stabbing myself Over and over until I leak While the blood it rushes And the ink; it flows Into each other And spills onto my paper While ideas form and shape That's how you make red ink.
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Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
Red Ink
"Whose heart was breaking for a little love." Down-stairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all: But in my solitary room above I turn my face in silence to the wall; My heart is breaking for a little love. Though winter frosts are done, And birds pair every one, And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun. I feel no spring, while spring is wellnigh blown, I find no nest, while nests are in the grove: Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone, My heart that breaketh for a little love. While golden in the sun Rivulets rise and run, While lilies bud, for springtide is begun. All love, are loved, save only I; their hearts Beat warm with love and joy, beat full thereof: They cannot guess, who play the pleasant parts, My heart is breaking for a little love. While beehives wake and whirr, And rabbit thins his fur, In living spring that sets the world astir. I deck myself with silks and jewelry, I plume myself like any mated dove: They praise my rustling show, and never see My heart is breaking for a little love. While sprouts green lavender With rosemary and myrrh, For in quick spring the sap is all astir. Perhaps some saints in glory guess the truth, Perhaps some angels read it as they move, And cry one to another full of ruth, "Her heart is breaking for a little love." Though other things have birth, And leap and sing for mirth, When spring-time wakes and clothes and feeds the earth. Yet saith a saint: "Take patience for thy scathe"; Yet saith an angel: "Wait, for thou shalt prove True best is last, true life is born of death, O thou, heart-broken for a little love! Then love shall fill thy girth, And love make fat thy dearth, When new spring builds new heaven and clean new earth."
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Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
L.E.L--by Christina Rossetti
"Whose heart was breaking for a little love." Down-stairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all: But in my solitary room above I turn my face in silence to the wall; My heart is breaking for a little love. Though winter frosts are done, And birds pair every one, And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun. I feel no spring, while spring is wellnigh blown, I find no nest, while nests are in the grove: Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone, My heart that breaketh for a little love. While golden in the sun Rivulets rise and run, While lilies bud, for springtide is begun. All love, are loved, save only I; their hearts Beat warm with love and joy, beat full thereof: They cannot guess, who play the pleasant parts, My heart is breaking for a little love. While beehives wake and whirr, And rabbit thins his fur, In living spring that sets the world astir. I deck myself with silks and jewelry, I plume myself like any mated dove: They praise my rustling show, and never see My heart is breaking for a little love. While sprouts green lavender With rosemary and myrrh, For in quick spring the sap is all astir. Perhaps some saints in glory guess the truth, Perhaps some angels read it as they move, And cry one to another full of ruth, "Her heart is breaking for a little love." Though other things have birth, And leap and sing for mirth, When spring-time wakes and clothes and feeds the earth. Yet saith a saint: "Take patience for thy scathe"; Yet saith an angel: "Wait, for thou shalt prove True best is last, true life is born of death, O thou, heart-broken for a little love! Then love shall fill thy girth, And love make fat thy dearth, When new spring builds new heaven and clean new earth."
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** I wish I could tell you that sometimes I'm terrified of life. The negativity seems to scathe my soul,but yet somehow, I seem to push past the fear and get on with my day. Fragile like porcelain doll, how did I get this way? Optimistic at my best, I say to myself, that this too shall pass. I wish I could tell you that it will be okay, because you might need to hear that too. I'm fearless for others but not for myself.**
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Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
The Wall.
*why are you so easy to walk past but then so difficult to forget?-- a cattle brand that sears each waking moment; scathe dreams of night: what memory tarries are rumpled bed- clothes at sun up and scribbled sheets sojourn inconsolate on a litter-strewn desk*
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Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC
morning after
Why can't I see the girl in the mirror All her demons are playing Chinese whispers One by one the secrets meet the conscious Hidden wounds deform the mind The pain you feel at the initial tear of a bandaid, every time you uncover another scathe Bleeding out despair You can not run You can't decorate a gun in roses and tell me it won't **** you You must confide in what you ignore Stare into the mirror until you welcome the girl with open arms Let out what's hiding beneath your lair
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Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 4:28 AM UTC
What you ignore
I just want someone to hold my hand guard my heart keep me safe and tear me apart Rip open my heartstrings scathe my whole mind be in my heart and turn me blind I want a love that makes me whole but rips me open to the venerability of a life where caution is through
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Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
Turn Me Upside Down
Beaming bright, like sweet sun – it bounces. It burns, it scathes and it blinds – It is love like your lips are my lips and my lips eternal. It is insecurity like I care too much about my hips that are your hips eternal. But it is sweet because your heart is mine eternal, It is sticky because you cling to me so we bounce, burn, scathe and blind, It is sleepy-strong, like the tendrils of your murmured words as they fall in the dark, dark night where we tumble, heated and cooled, twins in our agony, striving for the peak.
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Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
Eternal
the noise murmurs like an opera singer throat spiraling into symphonies piercingly raw and loud captured by her grief this opera singer strums the strings of her vocal chords into the ferocious howl of the wind encased from the glance of heavens as the tears weep from her opaque eyes far away, her fingers may never scrape the last little bit of what belonged to her she screams and wails beating her pale knuckles into the dimples of her shrunken ******* they once were elements of life and beauty of fertility sprung forth within the intimacy of dawn yet the years have droned on and have shaven the marble clarity of her beautiful, beautiful skin now, now this opera singer she forever sits idle from the lime light and watch sorrowfully as the whiteness eradicate from her very existence the marvelous glaciers which rose with guild and pride ****** from the spoils of greed her skin was once a city of ice towers so sublime in its own untouched beauty now, now she crumbles under her own weight her shriveling curves of earthly beauty her exposed sheets of molten dribbles of melted starry light the glimmering pebbles of her youth now eroded into writhed swarms cracking into a million shattered pieces like chipped pieces of priceless china or glossy surfaces of ancient porcelain never to carry the fruits of tomorrow the opera singer dutifully lays on her back the stage have surfaced and drowned her skin and as she sinks under the wretched toxins her eyes will forever remain open underneath the surface of extinction and it swarms into her lungs and scathe the dutiful orchestra of her beautiful, beautiful voice the remnants of her purity bubbles upwards, floating, far away, as she dies, slowly and echoes fading, melting, dying away.
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Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
The Ice Opera
the noise murmurs like an opera singer throat spiraling into symphonies piercingly raw and loud captured by her grief this opera singer strums the strings of her vocal chords into the ferocious howl of the wind encased from the glance of heavens as the tears weep from her opaque eyes far away, her fingers may never scrape the last little bit of what belonged to her she screams and wails beating her pale knuckles into the dimples of her shrunken ******* they once were elements of life and beauty of fertility sprung forth within the intimacy of dawn yet the years have droned on and have shaven the marble clarity of her beautiful, beautiful skin now, now this opera singer she forever sits idle from the lime light and watch sorrowfully as the whiteness eradicate from her very existence the marvelous glaciers which rose with guild and pride ****** from the spoils of greed her skin was once a city of ice towers so sublime in its own untouched beauty now, now she crumbles under her own weight her shriveling curves of earthly beauty her exposed sheets of molten dribbles of melted starry light the glimmering pebbles of her youth now eroded into writhed swarms cracking into a million shattered pieces like chipped pieces of priceless china or glossy surfaces of ancient porcelain never to carry the fruits of tomorrow the opera singer dutifully lays on her back the stage have surfaced and drowned her skin and as she sinks under the wretched toxins her eyes will forever remain open underneath the surface of extinction and it swarms into her lungs and scathe the dutiful orchestra of her beautiful, beautiful voice the remnants of her purity bubbles upwards, floating, far away, as she dies, slowly and echoes fading, melting, dying away.
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