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Dark Fjord Nov 2016
can ignoring get it to leave?

he's just an old flame
    and she only
knows the number and
names every time, she scratches

    and she gathers up sticks to burn
effigies of him and it remains
even more present.
heart knocks
September Rose Jul 2018
Ah the perfect boy

Mushy and gushy, all human like, with normal human skin, and smile

Scratch that

Heavy body armor, brandishing a sword, born in the mid 15th century

Hmmm, no

Aluminim for hair, copper in his head, lack of understanding of any type of human emotions

That's not right, no

How about
Scales?
Not possible
Gills?
Smells fishy
A being of pure light energy?
Sigh, beyond my comprehension

I guess I'll just get
A pet rock
Im celebration of international rock day
There’s a hole in my quilt I must patch it.
There’s a hole in my sock I must **** it.
There’s a hole in my *** I must ..……!
Heidi Franke Aug 2018
Head can now explode
But my hair rises black
Higher than this
Feeling inside like
I am,
         Screaming
         the sound could send waves
In new directions.  
Capture or let go...
They both make me feel
          Insane
Unable to do anything else
The roar is paralyzing me
Get me into the black hole
       already
I need the other side
Rage-Light, flashing
      You would be blind by now
But I see too much
       Scratching out your eyes.
Mystic Ink Plus Oct 2018
Stay cautious

Believe me
Got broken takes, no time
Healing, a way long

Fragments,
Need to be confirm
Align to the earlier form
Stabilize for endurance
Then finally
Makeover stitch
Allowing the time to recover

But this is not the end
Some of us take
Much longer than
The usual time

In those
Who are obsessed
To scratch the scar
Recall the moment
With a same dumb question
Why me?

Little do we knew
Why few don’t
Want to get healed
And what keeps them
Scratching
Genre: Abstract
Theme: Note on scar | Why some aren't healed at all?
Isaac Jul 2018
white pages before me
pure as snow

no mark, no scratch
no story to show

page after page
waiting to be used

patient, at peace
excited, and amused

each page a day
of the future world

anticipating the time
when their purpose will unfold

who will be a part of them?
everyone but those yet to be

who will enjoy them most?
the people who now get ready
Written 1 July 2018

Start purposefully and knowingly planting seeds now.
JB Feb 11
In an attempt to scratch the itch under my skin
I take a blade and when they ask
Oh this? It's just a scratch

In order to filter the thoughts in my head
I ***** it open with a can opener

In trying to find the answer
And filter this poisoned blood

I poisoned my self with terminal self destruction

In an attempt to filter the blood contaminated with wrongful thoughts
I bleed from my irritated layers
As if the air will give a transfusion to heal this broken heart
EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch
EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch?

KuppingMyBoschMaegMyF­eldSafF...

The nur-see tain't weetchin'

Shh, don't look around
they don't see if you don't look around...

SCRATCH EARS!

That one,
is okay, he's mowin' the lawN with his hands,
and smiling...

NO PILLS! NO PILLS!

wait a, no, wait, no, wait, no, wait...

EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch
EyeGaddaKu'upMiBosch?

KuppingMyBo­schMaegMyFeldSafF...

I've got to cup my *****, cupping my ***** makes me feel safe.

wait, no, wait, no, wait, no wait...

iF i bITe MY FINGeRNaILS THEe TaStE LIKE WAx




wax
Francie Lynch Sep 2018
I've used them on my windows
To see the clear outside,
If I read the Op-eds,
I shudder, shuttered and hide.

I've spread them 'neath my plates and cups,
My shelves all neat and tidy;
But the headlines made it clear to me
My glass is more half empty.

They had a place in the litter box
For **** to scratch and squat;
I laid them round my garden plants,
They made fine insect traps.
Rolled and twirled they'd start a fire,
I could fold them into hats.
They cleaned the grease from BBQs,
And they're safe to pick up glass.
Crumple them for packaging,
They work as school book covers;
Add water and some flour,
To shape papier mache lovers.
Fold seeds in them to germinate,
Then use them for compost;
There's many ways to employ
Your Times and local Post.

But I won't subscribe to Dailies
For the felling of our trees;
And yet I miss my papers,
And the ways they worked for me.
But when enthroned,
You'll hear me grouse,
There's no **** paper in this ****-house.

My cell works well to scroll and swipe,
But it's only good for a virtual wipe.
King Panda Aug 2017
a crocus opens and
closes with the stream of
midnight moon.

the playmate of exhaustion
crosses the room
in his heavy, black boots
to close the curtains.

goodbye, light.
goodbye, pride of lions
and boy transformed
into a werewolf.

a scratch
of larceny,
the cuddle of
maple leaves rotting,
the magnet spinning
in rocket-ship orbit.

all secrets held in
feathers,
in hair compounded
into strings of
black opal,
and limbs stenciling
comets around
five feet of woman.

nothing in the talk
can suffocate—a quick
and easy birth of
ecstasy and the emotional
sidestep into the dark
of slumber,
seemingly feminine but
dreams strong as
barbed wire.

when to sleep?

a question finger-written
on my chest.
RK Aug 2018
I was thinking about you and reminding myself not to interfere but it’s so hard not to, when I love you.

Still, that gives me no special rights so I ended up minding my own business.
The whole saga unfolding before my eyes I tried to reach you fibrationally. I sent you love and kind wishes and many blessings
All the while realizing the dangerous situation you had encountered.
I saw you  losing your vitality!
I prayed this prayer for you !

Move away from the toxic atmosphere. That cut throat, manipulating back stabbing, "you scratch my back,  I’ll scratch yours, if you want to succeed in this life, attitude."

That environment is not good for you...

Money isn't everything! Pray tell me, if you lose your soul what good is the whole world?  It will be empty, destructive and counter productive.  If you say you need more you tell yourself a lie, you already have everything. Why create a lack, a void, where none exists? I watch you grow paler thinner-the light in your soul  dimmer, a bare glimmer of the one you truly are. The dis-ease is spreading like wild fire burning you out mercilessly, eating your liver. Destroying your beautiful vigour.  

I see it so clearly, will you hear, will you hear?

You see, I remember you! Yes, you had everything. Love, kindness and empathy, all these beautiful soul qualities. You knew how to share, care and be fair.
Now you are empty with lots of money, you have nothing and everything. What a ****** dilemma!

The degrees hard earned, and book knowledge but nothing really of true value, no equilibrium, balance.  
Too much of everything! And you told me you are full of despair. You laid you're heart and soul bare, a circle outside the square, yes I heard you.
You've travelled far, drive a fancy car. Nothing wrong with that, the world is your oyster.
Though in the grand scheme of things, do those  things really count for anything.  Albeit money itself isn't the real issue here. It's the belief that without it you are nothing. The words nothing and everything are so misunderstood! We all have to work out this ****** and harsh conundrum.

You included!

Thats if you want to know the true meaning of success, of being blessed, that is...

Can you hear, can you hear, can you hear?
The prayer answered ...

Oh! I hear, I hear! loud and crystal clear.
I now know, and of this you can be sure. It's taken a long time to work it all out. Now I'm here, and close enough to understanding the conundrum.

So yes,  I hear!

And I understand The dilemma! Not left or right,  but the centre. The circle squared if you like! I had to go through all the fear, oh! the terrible fear to find the truth. The courage to work though the pain the suffering.

I remember when I started out.  I didn't fit in at first.  I was so innocent, a lamb to the slaughter.  I became so competitive. I fought, driven by ambition, t'was like an addiction. I wanted more, worn down to the floor accumulating, name, position of authority, the status. The friends, the enemies! Who is who? Trying to figure it out was horrendous.  I lived in dread, under the threat I'd lose it all. The sleepless nights, the reflux, anxiety,  the psoriases, the fall.
But I kept climbing! Never staying too long on and any one rung, moving higher and higher. The ladder was made from steel, the building made from concrete blocks, while I, was born of only mere flesh and blood, a mortal being going under. Saved by grace, seeing my beautiful being, falling asunder.  


The awakening!

I'm clearing the slate of all the confusion, delusion, and getting to the emptiness where I now reside alone, not born only of flesh and blood,  but of spirit, of good. With God in my soul, I now know
the glory and wonder of the world.

Peace
Hmm, I'm not sure if this is suitable to post but I'm posting anyway. It's a dialogue in my head I had this morning. A friend and I have discussed these problems and issues and this morning I j found myself thinking of this person and marvelling how this dear one  came through such a rough period in life. All these musings are based on all the suffering the person went through!
Peace
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
control is a rich red hue,
control is warm, and deep.
it’s a destructive power,
and a stinging force.
a delicate line
between pain and serenity.

control is a rich red hue,
control tastes metallic.
like a cog in a machine,
and it comes around like clockwork.
a jagged dash
between insanity and knowledge

control is a rich red hue,
control melts like wax.
it evaporates within seconds,
and it dries within moments.
a recalcitrant scratch
between delusion and control
control is the sand dunes left behind once the red lakes dry up.
King Panda Jan 2018
—helium
along the tracks
squished and turned copper
sounding space scratch—
a record when listened
through some great machine where
James Taylor always hits the
high notes and matter explodes
forming the heaviest gold—us always
singing pennies.
us, remnants
kissing the core
of aging stars.
Stephen Purcell Sep 2015
The eternal tango of the maestro manifests itself in nigh infinite ways.
With the flick of the artist's brush, the ****** of the novelist’s pen or the chicken scratch of the scholar’s nib, legacies are etched, history is written and the world is shaped.
The astronomer, the craftsman and the physician all have one thing in common: Mastery.
Such pinnacles of skill have decades of their lives consumed, nay devoured in the pursuit of perfection, of greatness. Like grains of sand slowly falling into a furnace are the seconds of our lives, trickling, melting into puddles. But as sand melts, it forms shapes; therein lies the potential. Moldable puddles, colourless, devoid of naught but a clear medium.
Classical ideals of education and life. Miscellaneous cultural connections.
Cindra Carr Dec 2010
Fat blats fill the humid, night air
Chromed up machines ride tonight
Leather clad bodies with slick lines
Long legged, lean ladies rev their smiles
Black lined lips glossed smooth with red
Blood red fingertips scratch their pleasure
Nails run races up the backs
Smirked smiles know where they long to flit
Lip curling snarls as shivers run out
Sloe eyed partners strut by the line
Flicking their tails like bashful does
Paired up pretties ride out in squeals
Tires spin flashing through the lamp light
Paired up pretties hang tight tonight

cc1210
Hira malik Dec 2018
The transition in managma, between the earth of mine and the sun of his
Hear! The verbatim say the story out and loud
This is like the volcanic eruption amongst the cold freezing mountain
And the warmth of its hug is devastating!

Secretly she put off all the past and the future
A secret from everyone, a revelation to only one
Like a pounding thunder lightening streams out the ways
Those elated by the memoir, the streangth and conviction
Shr breathesd out, a gasp of relief, like rebirth of a child
And for the first ever time she realised, the world in her room is so exultant and free-ed!!
jane taylor May 2016
the needle on record
catches a scratch
the music’s awry

happily writing a story
the inkwell
runs dry

interruption of
fairytale endings
where nobody dies

awaiting a biopsy
out on a limb
nowhere to hide

©2016janetaylor
a doctor thought i had cancer ~ turned out to be a misdiagnosis
juneau Aug 2014
Dawn is near as I make another coat
After I ripped and slashed your throat

It brings me joy, I will not lie,
to hear you whimper, scream and cry.

Shout for help, scratch and bite,
most the fun is in the fight.

Down to the basement I drag your body
making coats, my new favourite hobby.

Daily office life can be such a bore,
so I stalk the night to find a *****.

No remorse when I see your pain.
Unless I'm caught I'll **** again.

Making coats, my new favourite hobby.
After which, I eat the body.
This is a work of fiction
March 30, 2012
Seven
Cné May 2017
I know it's out there somewhere
the elusive balm of sleep.
I've tried an evening toddy
and I'm running out of sheep.

Prescriptions drugs and sedatives
placebos, they must be.
Because my eyelids won't stay shut
there's far to much to see.

The REM my body craves
is like a hidden itch.
I know I need to scratch it
but can't FIND that *******!

And so I lie in darkness
and stare up at the fan.
I try to count rotations
while making up a plan.

The Sandman's on vacation.
I guess i'll read a book.
I listen to some sound effects
a breeze and babbling brook.

I may just have the answer.  
A hammer is the cure.
But such a headache I would get!
That has no real allure.

Desperation beckons.  
I'm teetering on the brink.
I'd give a lot for just a bit
( ten dollars for a wink?)

My eyes are red and swollen.  
My jaw is sore and raw.
The yawns are coming faster now
there oughta be a law.

I'll see you in the morning.  
Sweet dreams if sleep you can.
For me...I'll just go meditate
and watch that ceiling fan.
What else can I say... I can't sleep
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