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Sehar Feb 20
i know what love is
love is pain.


love is handing them the knife to slash at your chains
but hoping they
don't stab you in
the back.


love is disappointment

it is waiting up for messages never sent
hoping someone remembers
to remember you.


Love is a word over spent
very seldom meant
its the arrow of Cupid that kills you.
its an emotion that disappears
after it catches you unaware
its the want not the need that fills you
both elixir and poison
the apocalypse in the horizon
the fear of the loss that thrills you.
the walls not the bridges
the cuts not the stitches
the fire and the thirst that wills you.
love just is.
Anastasia Jun 4
she was thinking again
about the seams in her legs
the stitches
and weeping.
it terrified her
the blood gushing out
torn skin
the flavor of pain
her eyes were locked open
and she stared at the seams
tears pouring from her sewed-open eyes
she sits on her pile of ashes
her blood mixing
making a muddy paste
that crusts on her eyelashes
her bruised cuts growing on her flesh
opening
and reopening
maggots gnawing on her body
eating the remnants of flesh
and she stares.
don't follow them
patty m Apr 2018
The far space is closing along a band of trees,
peelings of shadowy rind expose ghostly hues.
all around the air is flammable,
until the setting sun a burning bush turns ashen.  

Strange mood around this monolithic rock
that some folks fear.
Overlong we have waited presenting our sacrifices.
yet not a breath of wind stirs as we chant
and seeds take root.  

A strange spirit leaps into our midst
and all around there is a quick intake of breath.
Piercing movement collapses in upon itself as it whispers
though our pores.
Rhythms strange insistent beat, a driving force
whirls through our bloodstream,
its slow sensuous movements lead us into dreams.
Attached ghost,
your haunting aria spins in ethereal mist
transposing meditation.
Someone has put a hole in our language and now as we
look with hazy speculation upon the book
with tiny red stitches we remain baffled,
turning it round and round looking at all the foreign symbols,
                                   but it cannot be deciphered.  
Only the creatures of the forest remember;
Mid-Summer nights, the sound of magical flutes and the
bells of dancing nymphs.  
Only they understand  the gifts that Gaia bestows.    
Only they remember the Wisdom Of The Faun.
are stitches
breathing
haley Oct 2017
The trail of a wedding dress
The flower girl holds with tiny fingers
Clutches

We too hold the endless stain of blood
On white t-shirts
On nights that scatter blue trees over black heart
Alight by shooting stars
The mother tells her child
Unwilling to unlock the truth

The truth
The truth those stars
Don't grant your wishes
They grab them
With scarred scratching hands.
Alight,

The damp stitches in the soil
Cemetery symmetrical to hospital
Those shooting stars circling
Like a vulture
Speeds towards dead carcasses
Still, the murdering star will not cease

To break bones
That have already broken
To take lives
That have already been taken
To burn
What is already charred

Today
It smells like not your favorite food for dinner
It smells like having to do your math homework
It smells like burning books
It smells like gnawing on your own skin for feast
It sounds like tired, howling machines
Spurring and sputtering, never-ending their onwards trek

Swallowing distances and with it, nameless faces
Nameless places
For nothing has gone without the occulent scratching hands taking hold

Today the earthquakes of death
Don't make the land shake anymore
For it has learned to cope
With the desolate cemeteries filled with mute bones

Today burns like gasoline
Looks like intestines decorating destroyed doors
Today it rains curdled crimson

Tell me shooting star
If the child liked  jam on his toast
Did he snore?
Did he like math? Or english?
Shooting star doesn't know and neither the bombs.

As bodies fall from trees
like rotten plums.

The world was born in blood
And has not ceased to suckle its wounds
Endless blood thirst, Endless war
But not endless skin to bleed
King Panda Feb 2016
she described it as ice
in her chest
like
a lance that tightroped from
her chest to mine
fought over at the breakfast table
because her end was bigger than mine
or mine had more blood than hers
or she always got to look at my good side
and why couldn’t I look at her without laughing

mother always said it was a blessing
that two people were so close to each other
not through birth
but by journey
and life
and happenstance
two people that tasted grilled cheese the same way
that heard the same voices of joy
loss
despair
but always stuck to the roof of the mouth like peanut butter
and not the generic brand
no
the 10 dollar organic stuff

two people that couldn’t help but
crack jokes at the dinner table
when everyone else was talking about
death because
what is death without life?
she would ask
and everyone would go silent
and float up through the
limitless sky
while we stayed grounded in
the life that whiskey brings

sister
if you ever hear me calling
know that I’d give you the bigger half
every time and that
you may borrow my three-hole puncher
without asking
because
I love you
and love stitches time without holes
and moments without the train station goodbye
and the rocks
well
they will always be rippling the stream so you
can go whitewater rafting and I can write poems
about how you fell in and found
a fleck of gold
Johannah Jeanty Jan 2018
Pumpkin patches,
So wretched
Leaving me with all stitches

Did you get me?
Can you see

Through the darkness
to be continued?
Michael Solc Jul 2014
An angel
wrapped in gauze.
Lying still
on coarse,
unmoved sheets.

Soft,
tender skin
pulled tight
over blood
and bone
by taut stitches
pierced through
the wreckage.
My angel.

Surrounded
by colour,
bright flowers
that fill the room
with a sweet odour
as they die.
I tell myself
that I can't
smell her too.

The sun
streaming in
through the window
is too hot,
but she shivers.
Now and then.
Her eyes,
so bright
when she looks
at me.

I touch her hair,
and whisper
in her ear.

An angel
wrapped in gauze
prays to a god
she's never seen.

I hold her hand,
long after she's let go.
Northern Poet Oct 2017
She broke his heart
It needed stitches
Then he said
All women are witches

She let him down
You’re not to blame
I’m leaving this town
It’s not the same
We had love
But it went away
What could have been
Wasn’t meant to stay

He can’t sleep
And his body itches
Then he said
All women are witches

One bad experience
Cut him deep in side
Deeper and deeper
With a rusty old knife
What was once love
Wasn’t meant to be
You’ll get over her
And those memories

The mind weeps
While the body twitches
Then he said
All women are witches

He took the wrong path
And he walked the line
She took him for granted
While he bought her wine
She lied to his face
Time after time
An utter disgrace
He’s now doing just fine
It's never easy
But you've got to let go
Enough is enough
I’m tired of this show
Now he's free as a bird
And back on track
He’s ****** her off
And got his life back

Now she’s gone
He removed the stitches
And no longer thinks
All women are witches
Joel M Frye Jan 2011
I have a wound that only trust will heal,
a scab encrusted on my bleeding soul.
Your eyes will tell me how much to reveal.

At first, the pain was much too great to feel;
the void within a black and gaping hole.
I have a wound that only trust will heal.

I learned the need to cover and conceal -
to curse the hurt and go on with my role.
Your eyes will tell me how much to reveal.

Love's embrace a temporary seal,
the depths too raw for topical control;
I have a wound that only trust will heal.

Another saw it, said it was not real
and did not want to see I was not whole;
your eyes will tell me how much to reveal.

Debride the edges gently, I appeal;
a gentle touch will help the stitches hold.
I have a wound that only trust will heal;
your eyes will tell me how much to reveal.
"Do Not Go Gentle" has always held a special meaning for me.  It took a while for me to attempt a villanelle.  So...thank you, Dylan.
Betsy Garris Jun 2017
Head in the mountains
Heart in the seas
Feet in the rivers, in bays, in streams
Head in the logic
Heart in the dreams
Hands in the tension sew stitches and seams

Head in the skies
Heart in the breeze
Eyes in the stars chart new galaxies
Head in the wild
Heart in the free
You in my want, but not in my need.
  
Head in the clouds
Heart in the trees
Hair in the wind, like grasses and greens
Head in the known
Heart in myst'ries
Wishes in whispers waiting on maybes.

Head in the wander
Heart in the journey
Faith in the Author of my living story
Head in the mountains
Heart in the sea
Yet, Soul in the prayer of you finding me.

|b.g.|
Bre Marie Aug 2016
Only if they knew the pain I've gone through. I could be me without all the lies, no more worries not a tear in my eyes.
Ear to ear my smile appears... The unseen stitches that have held together my smile and all my tears. Wishing away all those painful dreams; I slay them.
Arsène Aug 2018
At night I sleep alone
Mending heartache like stitches sewn

To no avail
As dreams of you prevail
My heart just couldn’t curtail
The ember  of your embrace
An ember that’s now displaced
Or one in which I’d misplaced

Will it ever be the same
As November came
And I was left in pain
Craving you again

Will I ever be the same
As December sang
And January rang
With A heart scarred
and left shard

Will we ever be the same
As February drained
And March rained  
For its we i wish to be

There is no we
she responded to me
A pierced heart has no cure
LC Sep 13
his words are stitched
into the fabric of her soul.
her smile is here to stay.
Vivian Alvarado Aug 2017
I have been
stuck
on this rubberband for days

I keep pulling
extending
and stretching it
back

I quickly release it
until I hear it
snap

It hit me quite hard
up against my wrist

The minutes and seconds
are raking again
The strands of my hair
on the ground

I feel
lonely

Or even worse

Trivial

Like a shallow river
in the street
After several days of rainfall
I'm an overbanking creek

I flood the town

As if I were the ocean but
there was never
any depth
There was never
any substance
to this interest

Because you
Never felt important

Well, I did not either

And so I lie flat
on my bed
Until I let
loneliness

Do open heart surgery
It makes a mess of me

And then it stitches me up

Necessity has the teeth of a dog

But I let it burn through
And in my own dissonance
I mother significance

Swarming out of my chest
Until the rubberband breaks
Iain M Apr 4
Peeling myself off the floor with shaking legs,
My head's spins and my bones feel lead heavy,
I grin through ****** teeth as the question begs,
what happens to the river when you break the levee.

****** knuckles, bent noses, and black eyes.
Dissociation hides behind a smirk and a dimple,
that practiced mask that self loathing buys,
I say I'm getting better, like its ever that simple.

You see I'm an expert at burning bridges,
a true to life true crime social arsonist,
I bathe in jet fuel to clean my stitches,
Just another on fire narcissist.

So leave my mirror be, cause its a cracked reflection,
the bad guy won my mental election,
Please don't trust his smiling inflection,
and save yourself from my infection.
this intergalactic
electric ecstatic dakini
spinning enchantments
to launch dew souls
Rocky Mountain hiiiiiiighhhh
brewing bitchinest dreams
inside lenticular lookout
fixin to spit stitches
at broken globular
after I mend my frays
who babbles hypothetically
thru abstruse WTFerland
wants you to know:

I do
believe

in thinks and its
holy whattheshits

here there
everywhere

all. of. it.
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