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Kayden T Widmer Feb 2015
It lingers in my veins, across my skin.
The Death that has taken my soul.
The seductive addictive pain,
Shiver ripples through my blood.

I smell you,
Scent thick with fear,with anticipation
With Lust for Eternal life.
The mark of the dead.

Twirling my fingers in your beautiful curls,
As I nuzzle closers,
And you moan as my lips hit your skin.
And I know you are ready for me

With this bite, I insite the itch,
That desperate need in you.
The hunger for more.
For my Body.

With your life blood in my  body
Running over my tonuge and lips.
I whisper to you,
"I love you, My dark child".

The drug you crave,
The attention I  keep from your body.
You squirm with need,
And a smile creeps to my face.
"If you want it...Take it"

A young farm boy,
Alone and lost.
My gentle hands wrap warmly around your heart
For it, and the rest of you are mine.

With great gentleness, You pull me ontop of you
My body unclothed and waiting.
My pale cold skin a stark contrast to your farmers tan
And I run my nails long your **** chest.
mine...

Take me when I let you,
Come to me when I call.
For My drug is you.
So Delicious
A Sweet Bite of you.
NSFW
Theodore Bird Feb 2015
He will be every callus on your painter's fingers.
He will be every warm winter
     and every cold summer.
He will be every drop of rain.
He will be every scratch on the roof of your mouth
     and every last scar.
He will be every shard of light.
He will be every book unread,
     and every cup of tea gone cold.
He will be every speck of dust.
He will be every tempting kitchen knife,
     and every broken promise.
He will be every single thought.
He will be every one of your bleeding gums,
     and each of your blackened lungs.
He will be every torn out page.
He will be every picture on a postcard,
     and every blood-stained bed.
He will be every shot of morphine.
He will be every pigeon feather,
     and every torn-apart crow.
M Eastman Dec 2014
So light
I brushed the drops away
With a wave.    
But long enough
To soak the earth
And fallen timber.                
I balanced on precariously
Traversing effervescent deluge
Losing purchase
And contemplating a sanguine palm.
Empathy swells the waves
That wash from each other.
Waves ran wild across vibrations of metal
Like a guitar playing under an ocean wave
Carrying the purpose and dream of one man
A piece of metal of a surgery gone wrong
Saved, an outer symbol, the only one
I dreamed about it last night
This man, his piece of metal
As I am a water creature, a fish very true
I picked up the symbol and attached it to a compass
This compass does not move, mixed in place forever
A symbol of his attitude
His direction will not waiver, this is his truth
I handed it back to him as a gift of gratitude
An example he is of strength and determination
And for that I have admiration~
Oli Mortham Nov 2014
More haunting
Than the marks
Left on a tortured body
Are the marks
A tortured body
Leaves itself
In a world where traumas are written all over our bodies


He has a bipolar jaw line and a suicidal knee cap,

collapsing and shaking

and reverberating his thoughts through his PTSD lip.

It quivers, and she looks away with an autistic eyelid.

See her a deaf cheek?

Their blind foreheads fluctuate, and their arthritic fingers vibrate.

Reynard’s Disease. Or Disorder IV. Perhaps,

one we’ve never heard before consumes the heart that’s about to break.

....

This was read at the University of Kansas in May of 2013: Read more about this event here:

http://shannonathompson.com/2013/05/10/contest-winners-and-poetry-from-my-ku-reading/
This was read at the University of Kansas in May of 2013: Read more about this event here:

http://shannonathompson.com/2013/05/10/contest-winners-and-poetry-from-my-ku-reading/
How She Loved Me

After she broke her neck, the diagnosis advised her to
avoid all moving when she could.
Once she agreed, three vertebrae were fused together,
and a cushion braced her instead of us.
We were not allowed.

Days passed. Weeks passed. Maybe three.

She sat in her chair and rocked and rocked
and rocked – until the hinges snapped, too.
The repairman repeated those two words:
Don’t. Move.

I avoided her after that – ran right past her when I could –
let my legs leap and fly and bend and breathe.
But even my knees knew how she watched,
how she waited for me to look.

I only did once.

On the day the sky became a lake,
she walked onto the deck like a dock,
threaded the wind with her fingers,
rose her chest when she breathed,
and bounced onto the trampoline.

She stretched and sprung and skipped into a flip
only stopping to giggle about her favorite rollercoasters.

And I stood still to listen.
I stood still and watched.
Heather Horner Aug 2014
With narrowed eyes
I glare out the window
Ridiculed
by the harsh beams of light
that glare back at me.

My ankles fidget
Shoulders lean forward
to see the unknowing plane
fly innocently overhead
and my bike
leaning unforgotten
against the rotting fence.

I stumble back
Spinning
In a whirring machine
that screeches and shudders
and thumps on the door
Can I come in?

Worried eyes flit my way
Take it easy
Like a fragile possession
Teetering on the edge
Crowds gather to catch
My faults

With walls binding me
I take comfort in darkness
It soothes my body
and warms my tears
but nourishes my fears
James Jarrett Jun 2014
I haven't left
Just pounded the inspiration
Out of my hand
With 20 Lbs. of hammer
A hand is a hell of a thing
To have
And it's starting to look
As if it's not healed
So woe for me
As it seems
My muse must live in that hand
And once again
She has fallen down the stairs
I know it ***** and is really not a poem. I have been notably absent because I smashed my hand driving a post in the ground. Healing is long and slow as I am 30 days in. Maybe it will get me depressed and I will be able to write something quality. LOL
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