Remains

there are trickles of blood
where dreams are skinned
like vampires they hold
no reflection in the mirror
they come and go as they please
and they hurt you because you let them

do you think
it’s really worth it
to be who you are?

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Vomit Poetry Challenge [Day 9]: the thousandth sword that I hold

30-Day Vomit Poetry Challenge: Day 9. No stops, no deletes, no edits–just write and keep writing. Publish as it is.

My second missed day. This was for October 11th.

the thousandth sword that I hold
in my hand, will be my last;
glorious songs I have sung
with the very essence of my soul
the blood and vibrations are
one blurry flash of crimson and red
there is something cosmic about
this dying world without a name
that I used to dream about ending
in this breathless beginning
in this very moment
this glorious song of birth

Vomit Poetry Challenge [Day 5]: bloody thumb

30-Day Vomit Poetry Challenge: Day 5. No stops, no deletes, no edits–just write and keep writing. Publish as it is.

a bloody thumb beneath
a blood-red moon
crimson energies hum with poignancy
slowly. fates are changing
souls realign
stars crash and burn like exploding wishes
what would be the cosmic interpretation
of a daring day, daunting, defiance
what would be the dreary meager answer
lame like mortality

Scalpel

I cup your left breast with my hand,
lift it, so that I may unseal your skin underneath;
as I venture through folds of secrecy,
I know, you are a small frightened thing–I see
your heart lies cradled, slumbers within
the bloody tapestry, a undeniable sophistication
that justifies all things–a voice
that convinces you
that you will not bleed
even as you cut into yourself
even as you scream
and that this organic fabric of red
is but a velvet dream

get away from that body

with this scalpel I exorcise you
I command you to leave
she is no longer yours
no longer your victim,
no longer your plaything

get away from that body

with this scalpel I undo you
I command you to cease
she is no longer yours
no longer your addiction
no longer a distant dream

she is mine now
she is ours
we are she
we despise you, resent you,
curse you, expel you
we are no longer yours
we are but ours, but mine

I command you to die

for I am my own thing,
I am my own person
I am mine
and mine alone

I am me

War Machine

conscience breaks like
bones break under heel;
its heart drips diesel, sings
of blood and oil; black
as the phantom laughter
that stills the breath of
every soldier
that dares
to meet
its
eye