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Tsuki no ume Jul 25
W-ounded she was scarred ,she still feels the pain
O-h the pain she couldnt bear one that drove her insane
U-nderestimating the damage,Now she weeps for her bane
N-ever had she imagined ,the sorrows that would stain
D-istorting images that would strain
S-ucked her brain made her sane
T-he sounds torment,twisting her veins
H-arsh realities those which never wane
A-nd even still ,she cries in vain
T-he past still whispers like a weeping swain
N-ever object ,never complain
E-teched and carved but she couldnt explain
V-ulnerable wound ;forever remains
E-nraged her soul which drenched in  rains
R-avens flew;she stared them through ;the window's pane
H-earing the echoes,forgotten arcanes
E-agerness betrayed her she was never fain
A-che still lingers so she drugged herself *******
L-unacy drove her mad and now she was dead and lain
A-nger burnt her alive but she still couldnt complain
M--adness made her demonic and now she wears her chains
I'-ntricated with restrictions she holds herself abstain
S-eculuded in her solace a fear she still contains
E-mpathy she had lost, one she never had to gain
R-efrained the sentiments inside just so she would retain
Y-et she still sobs; behind that old chayne
T-he anguish she lives with while being still and plain
H-ear this message dear i beseech and constrain
A-gony strips and rips her but the clearity she maintains
T-he porcelien smile ;one for which she trains
N-ot letting it show; the misery she obtains
E-legance she tries to mask; beyond her domains
V-engeance bleeds inside ;mascarred and slain
E-rupts from her bones until it sprains
R-an and ran forever; and now she holds her cane
E-nd her pain forever let her rest and lain
N-ested in some peace a peace that she disdains
D-ie and demise she sings with the cranes
S-epulchural wounds and agonies For always would be her deign
                   _tsuki no ume~
#*Acrostic:
"Wounds that never heal"
"A Misery that never ends"
#*Monorhyme
Bekah Halle Jul 16
The train
Sashayed and swayed,
Hugging the corners
As it rounded the tracks
That led us back
To the city —
These tracks
Are everywhere,
Across Australia,
And around the world —
These tracks
Mirror the tracks on my face;
                 scars left from stitches
Weaving my wounds together —
The 100+ knitting my skin together after the surgeons scooped out the brain AVM,
Across the bridge of my nose
Originating from a foul swipe
Of a tennis swing.
The crows’ feet from
Forever smiling eyes
Even when they were crying.
These tracks are traces
Of a life lived;
Westerners pay the “big bucks” to hide them,
Mine…
Are forever present and I don't deny them,
Viktoriia Jul 16
how far you've come.
do you remember every sunset
since the arrival of the sun
or do you crave the blessed dark
now more than ever?
the depth of misery's embrace,
the calm it brings, the warmth it takes,
like being stripped of every part of being you.
would you still welcome the collapse
or wait for sunlight to break through?
this grave's too shallow.
do you still wait to be transformed
or are you finally brave enough
to be in charge of your own form?
before the old survival instinct
can dig its claws into your throat,
remember, scars are there to guide you,
not to condemn, but to remind you
how far you've come.
Matt Jul 14
It was only a door,
a frame of wood and steel,
hinges that whispered secrets
every time it swung shut.

But one night, it broke —
splintered by words sharper than fists,
its edges warped by the weight
of slamming, shouting, silence.

I patched it with care,
sandpaper and nails,
a veneer too smooth to betray
the fault lines beneath.

Yet the wind remembers.
It presses through cracks too thin to see,
a cold draft that lingers in rooms
I’ve since repainted.

Even now, when the house is quiet,
I flinch at creaks,
of shadows moving too fast.
The door stands still,
but I am the one that warps
Ellie Jul 11
TW : references to triggering topics below

My art is not considered normal
It’s made of fine lines
The lines form rows
They tell a story
Of whom I once was
During the tears
Those tears not only lasted for year but also still last
My fine lined art has recently come to a end
Or more of a rest
Because it may start again
My fine lined art is not art
But a way to cope
A way to breathe
Yet my skin bleeds whenever I draw those lines
The fine lines are considered ugly
To the eyes of society
they will leave scars forever
But my scars are not ugly they tell a story
Of my fine lined art.
screaming in a

soundproof room

the feeling of

tiny cuts opening

my scars displayed;

bright red. It's like

I'm unraveling, and

I don't want to stop.



"It feels like relief."
Lance Remir Jul 8
You must be proud of me
Proud that I have moved on
Proud that I have taken a step
Admiring the progress I made
Silently happy for me

But I am not proud at all
I am not proud of this progress
I am not proud of these scars
You gave me shameful wounds
That my heart has to bear

You were my pride and joy
You were my future and hope
A partner, a lover, a friend
Now look where that got me
A broken heart for all to see

Retelling the stories of us
Brings great shame to me
Making me look like a fool
Why would I be proud of
The hardships you put on me

You are not proud of me
Surviving the heartbreak
Or how I carry myself with pain
You are proud of the scars
That still carries your name
Yuzuko Jun 16
I don’t have the unearthly craving
That’s many souls hold dearly
Maybe I’m in need of saving?
Or maybe it’s there merely

The search for the moon and stars
The wonders in someone’s heart
Not for another because of scars
But for the peacefulness of the true art

The trauma that’s unfolded
The scars at what’s lost
The drama that would’ve been avoided
Left me with a hefty cost

Now I watch the craving take someone else
Good luck with what you’ve been dealt
Yuzuko Jun 15
I am so truly lost in a haze.
I tried with all my heart to love,
But all I’m met with is a lonely gaze.
It just wasn’t enough.

I’m drowning in the waves of a sea.
I’d created this sea of emotions.
Locked away and lost the key.
Now I watch as it consumes me.

Gazing at the moon above,
I see the scars over it.
And start to wonder where I messed up?
Yet, the moon maintained brightly lit.

The garden I called home met a flame,
And now I’ll be to blame.
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