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Literature Text
Blotted crimson angles,
Drawn with a rule of sharpened steel.
How can one behold the sight
And refrain from wondering what pain was their creator?
That pain was mine, my savior in the dark,
Thick crimson splashes breaking the blinding white.
Hidden pleasures, hush, it is a secret;
The red lines must never drip from my poppy coloured lips.
But now I look upon there faded lines of pain,
And need not hide them from all and evermore.
For I love them all dearly now with my very soul;
My painful, blotted, pretty red lines.
Drawn with a rule of sharpened steel.
How can one behold the sight
And refrain from wondering what pain was their creator?
That pain was mine, my savior in the dark,
Thick crimson splashes breaking the blinding white.
Hidden pleasures, hush, it is a secret;
The red lines must never drip from my poppy coloured lips.
But now I look upon there faded lines of pain,
And need not hide them from all and evermore.
For I love them all dearly now with my very soul;
My painful, blotted, pretty red lines.
Literature
Myocardial Infarction +
I like to press my fingertips together
Like this
I like to
Reminisce
I can feel my bones through my skin, and the violet-blue translucency
The oh-pah-ci-ty
Of my veins running within
I like to take the stethoscope and listen to someone else's heart
Because it makes me feel like I'm…
A part of something
intruding
Into their selves… their soul… my call…
I like it when someone else places their hands over my chest and feels it expand as I breathe in
And breathe out
Because that, without a doubt, proves that I am alive
Or that at least my body continues to survive
Collar… sternum… ribs… encasing
Literature
These stories are lies.
These stories are lies.
Laura Barton
The stories I tell are lies.
Each of these scars has a story, unique and not unique in that they are caused by similar means but not always by similar reasons. I could tell you their stories, but instead I recite lies or mangled truths because it's easier to deal with the looks of disbelief that you so skilfully try to hide. Yet, you wouldn't blame me if you could envision as I envision your looks of disgust. You wouldn't blame me if you knew as I know how you would recoil from the truth. The truth might set you free, but for me it will only make clear that I'm cowering in the open a
Literature
It hurts, because
It hurts,
because I swallowed
my heart
And now
I'm digesting it
I can't breathe,
because my lungs
are trying to beat
My elbows are trying
to be knees and
my spine is missing altogether
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Comments11
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I really like teh way the first stanza asks a question and leaves the reader to think and wonder and let it sink in, adn then in teh second stanza it informs them that it was the speaker and it doesn't exactly tell them straight out what happens and keeps it mysterious. I felt teh ending wrapped it up approrietly. I agree, you ahve some nice word choices in this piece an ht ephrasing in some areas is wonderful. I would perhaps consider that wehere youa hve a comma at teh end of teh line, the next line should start with a captial. You dont'' see a setnence written lie this do you: "So,The other day I was walking down teh street, And I saw her, She was pretty." removign those capitals can often help improve the flow of a poem, tis a mdoern movement in poetry.
From the founder of #The-Writers-Review
From the founder of #The-Writers-Review