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 Aug 2016
Vincent S Coster
The metal blade
That kissed your skin
Will nor remove the pain
Nor form scars
To match the ones
Formed by betrayal upon
Your heart
The seeping blood
So crimson
Enticing
Will not wash away  
They way that tears do
The sadness you may feel
Spent on people who
Mistreat you
But they are fools
And so beneath you
And their razor blade tongues
Cut into you
But you will rise above
Their hurtful words
Like blood red roses
In the snow
And from the ashes of  
Your broken self
We'll see the fire of  
Your beautiful spirit
And we'll have roses for ashes then

*© 2011 Vincent S. Coster
Taken from the 2011 Gothic pamphlet Nocturnes. Based on the poet's own experience of self-harm in this poem he is speaking to all who are driven to hurt themselves but does this by using the device of writing to an undisclosed individual.
 Aug 2016
Mara W Kayh
today i couldn;t hold it in any longer
i said my piece
it didn't go well
Now I'm facing the
Chill i knew would arrive
like ice on fire
Frozen Lump in throat
Peering over the abyss
Shattering All illusion of
Peace
Or  security
Or civility
Like A dam giving way
But instead of
bursting forth
this water is jagged ice.
For now,
Suspended in descent
we are
in
Deep
Freeze
After a god awful fight.. With no possibility of escape
 Aug 2016
nivek
There is a bridge, a two way street
to crisscross all day
the dreamscape where love and death can be met
rage and joy take hold of your ink.
Free flow on a magic carpet and the hole that goes on forever, deep.
We meet on the bridge everyday, you going one way and I the other
and occasionally we doff our hats and chat real brief.
Its all in the subconscious, all that stuff out of reach of your conscious mind, and that's why you take the walk over the two way street, daily, and sometimes too many times to count, its a must for all those that dream.
 Aug 2016
harlon rivers
hours drip slowly
onto a taunting empty page
the soul’s depictions brushed simply

a palette of whispered words
dry as if it were thoughts painted
onto a tightly stretched canvas

it's been said so many times before
                   similes,...
     form clots at the tip of the quill
                    words,...
finally surrendering to gravity’s flow
as the ink scribes the paltry ruminations;
flooding the same stifled notions
another way into another moment

metaphorical sleights of hand
incarnate onto the absolving
       sheet of parchment;
traces of past now’s ensconced
       in considered words

        miles of silent reverie,
                     spun,...
        like a spider reprocessing,
        carefully savoring
        each fine silk thread of web,

        spinning the womb of time...

© H.A.  Rivers 2012 … All Rights Reserved
... dedicated to all lonely, wayfaring word whisperers,
lost within the silent confines of a bared soul
 Aug 2016
SG Holter
My mind travels towards that
Vein on her neck my
Mouth once found

The way your tongue inevetably
Returns to the sharp edges of a
Chipped tooth

Despite your efforts
To keep it from cutting itself on
Something sharp, yours and

Broken.

— The End —