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Literature Text
Deep
Deep into the skin
Dig holes into
The tortured soul
Make cuts reach its
Decomposing core
Deep into the self
To reach the monster
Twisting in pain
Thrashing about
Bleeding pressure
In this repulsive
Human deformity
Deep into the veins
Into defenseless
Cellular conglomerates
Deep into the flesh
To collapse all
Controlled normality
Deep into the mind
Into the neurons
Signaling of fear
Deep into the skin
Through the pretension
To end its protection
Miscalculated
Deep into the skin
Dig holes into
The tortured soul
Make cuts reach its
Decomposing core
Deep into the self
To reach the monster
Twisting in pain
Thrashing about
Bleeding pressure
In this repulsive
Human deformity
Deep into the veins
Into defenseless
Cellular conglomerates
Deep into the flesh
To collapse all
Controlled normality
Deep into the mind
Into the neurons
Signaling of fear
Deep into the skin
Through the pretension
To end its protection
Miscalculated
Literature
if you have ghosts (you have everything)
my hands were blue and so was i
and i had everything:
a christmas tree
a guitar tuned by humidity
a dark library underneath my pillow
and a voice whose words jerk, jut
and stab quietly into one another
so i may never understand;
it was two AM, dawn of a decade
and here a ghost has me motionless in 1933.
--
i never met my grandfather till today--
he dies in 1975
and in 2020 he is born
at the bottom of a drawer in the kitchen,
his coffin and crib:
he is swaddled in moth-eaten dishtowels by a nameless undertaker
(or perhaps an autophagic author himself);
his crib and coffin:
he is buried a lifetime
(deaf to my cacophonous lifetime et ceter
Literature
Not Here
I cannot reach you
no matter how far
I stretch my heart
you escape my arms
and I grasp the nothing
of where you refuse
to be.
Literature
decisions left unmade
all i find
is that black wall
when i search
the threads
of futures
and
of fates
.
six words
and he could sit
for years
for a decade
and a day
and where would my
own world go
with his
locked away
.
i have not yet learned
to make my bread
haven’t tucked my own
heart in at night
and promised:
if you need me
i’ll be here
i haven’t walked a mile
in my own shoes
and seen the light
of understanding
haven’t held my
ragged hands
and said:
now your gait
makes sense
to me
.
there is black tar
in my blood stream
.
i took those barbs
into my lungs
and learned
to hate the way
my toes dragged
learned
to believe
a
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I wonder - is self-harm, in the eyes of the doer, harm of the self or of the wrongness within? Is the skin punctured so the wrongness can get out?
© 2017 - 2024 Elendurwen
Comments7
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Or an extreme need to break away from the numbness of their lives.