Posts tagged poetry

Dirt soaked into skin

From the climb up

Out of the hole I

Dug myself into is something

I long for.

This pit of despair

Has become adorned with

Empty bottles, worn scraps ofpaper

With barely legible handwriting.

I am an empty mess

And I need saving.

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The smouldering ashes

Of what we once were

Burns its way

Into my flesh

Bringing memory to scar skin

And flesh, tattooing

Its way into my story.

You’ll never be forgotten

Woven into a fraction of the

Novel that will become my life.

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Threading broken promises

Through needles to sew

This skin back together.

We are perfect examples

Of how being broken

And breaking in the throes

Of love can heal ancient wounds

We are twisted

But we’ve healed each other

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We are enumerated nothings

Scrawled across ripped pages

From notebooks left in corners

Gathering years of discoloration

And missed memories.

Each word we write

Heralds dreams of the macabre

And days spent pouring over Poe,

A foul chill of sadness and loss,

The death of love,

Persephone descending to Hades

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The Raven and the Wolf

Two lonely souls

Searching for something stronger

Than loneliness

But arrive as ghosts

Engrained as old stories

Traditions carved into veins

Of those that soldier on

Through vast expanses of solidarity.

The Raven and the Wolf

Come together,


Take stock of what you see

And fly away.

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Driving for 36 hours

To escape unknown fate

Of Northern ports

That I called my home

For half a decade.

And now I sit

In abject emptiness

Considering the risks of

Playing it safe

And taking chances,

Like coasting down steep hills

On four wheels with no engine

No brakes

Nothing but hope

And crossed fingers

Wishing against failure.

So setting sail

Each gust of wind

Pushing towards hopeful

Resolution of fear

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Here we bleed,

Threading needles of nonexistence

Hoping to stitch wounds

That we carved into our skin.

The pain never ceases.

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We are forever broken

Cycling through stale pictures

Memories from days better


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I plotted my course in graphite

Not wishing to make full

Commitment to the road I must

Take to find my way home.

All there is left is to

Weave through flat lands and

Hours of silence

Before I make it.

We twist and turn

Breaking backs and promises

Trying to unravel

Our sordid little love

Story in parts

Broken apart li-

-ke counter

CULTURE poetry.

We are a darkened corner

Of a dive bar,

A storied history

Lost to burned pages

Scars with nothing to say

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We are the broken memories

Of shattered dreams, simply shards

Of glass worked in with the long grass

That surrounds our ramshackle apartment.

We are bloody, twisted wounds

That we refuse to acknowledge.

We are broken, but alive

And that’s okay.

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We burn with slow flame

A twisted torture

That we enjoy

A memory locked in

Rusted out boxes,

Packed with glass shards

Accented with blood and tears

A fight not worth replaying.

We burn our past, slow and ever long

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Here we are

With words twisted

As broken branches.

Every story we whisper

Is nothing more than a

Missed vein in a vain attempt

To drug our bloodstreams.

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There’s still a me

That loves you and I

Can’t keep it from bubbling

Up and taking control.

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Dredge up the pain

That rests deep seated

In the cavity of my chest

And let it flow through

Veins that ache with absence.

Every time I see you,

I fall in love again.

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