Being Hurt

13 December, 2013

The Knife Strong It Cuts The Love

The… the garden, well kept, within bordered, walled, pikes of trust chance encounter, the bag spilt seeds, feelings, sprouting weeds of turmoil, to rank to protect, the soul to overgrow The Knife… the knife, jungle long, jungle sharp handle, worn well, balanced in trust chipped, aged, stained in the air, poised, do do to protect, what it has before and will The Knife Strong… the knife strong, in bearers hand darkened night, glittering trust oft before, to serve, the logical cut to protect, the not, that may be not survival

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The Hurting

A slither, something hardly percievable overcovered meticlously covered layer after coloured layer forced happy-feelings-glue years of slapping it on slapping it on and slapping it on A slither, grey vague, transluscent but there not budging a tiny something that only a searching soul can see Touch… smooth, rubbery trying to find something sensing something unseeable syncing a path no exit vastness, void, silence, engulfing dark, thin air a thick cloth, covering the corpse

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He Should Have Known Better

Why? why? the pain rising despair feeling left, left alone the anger the unrightousness he had no right even if he didn’t know yet he knew then why? the hurt stab, deep, lost memories deeper, ripping the trust, ropey bridge hanging, to hope being slashed anchors, hobnailed kicked flying deep, winding gorge of loss forever how could he cruel cheap he should have known better he loved me

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