Memento – 1Wise-Woman

Thanks to Christine at https://braveandrecklessblog.com/ for the prompt, my latest piece on grief ❤

Brave & Reckless

A knock upon the door reveals a familiar, elderly man, dressed in his finest. His facial expression is one of uncertainty. What does the face of, “I don’t know how you’re still standing” look like anyway? It looks like me… haggard, unwashed, skeletal. “One foot in the grave,” I tell myself, laughter pressing psychotically upon my parched lips.

He’s been on my front step too many times to know what to do or say. That’s a job for the professionals. Nonetheless, his instinct kicks in, avoiding having to look at me for too long, he hands me a meager, lonely rose, wrapped in plastic and tissue and utters his deepest condolences. Words I’ve heard so much they’ve lost any meaning.

I hang it upside down, along with the other two, still not fully dried. I wonder if hospice knew that each one was a different color than its predecessor? Yellow…

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My Death Is a Great Red Pen, Correcting-Kindra M. Austin

Heretics, Lovers, and Madmen

What you want, I ain’t got; and

goddamn,

I have the sinking feeling that it’s happening

again,

as night is falling down upon me. I submerge,

accordingly—

await my death.

My death eradicates mistakes I’ve made,

and saves.

My death is a great red pen, correcting

according to

Vodka,

on top of Fibromyalgia,

on top of Anxiety,

on top of Depression,

on top of Rx medication.

*

Two years dead,

and I’m still fucking seeking

mother’s affection.

I beat my breast,

claw my throat,

shake my insignificant

fists.

I cry confessionals ‘til Hell won’t have ‘em.

*

I have the sinking feeling that it’s happening

again,

as night is falling down upon me. I submerge,

accordingly—

await another death.

Each one eradicates mistakes I’ve made,

and saves.

I am pain,

and all my deaths

are a great red pen, correcting—

according to the spiders spinning webs

within the folds…

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Always

Pure beauty ❤

TheFeatheredSleep

Rorschach_blot_04Sorrow

You come from the juxtapose of joy

As I ate words of love

I had been starving for

Felt your surround like a glory

My body opening for the first time in years

To the rain of you and your outstretched us.

That safe place

Didn’t really exist

I had simply been running in diminishing blindfolds

Emptying myself of protest just as, in one glance, you fill me whole

Anything less is biding time before dying

And it’s not good enough! I want to feel FIRE.

I am

I said into darkness

A strange person

I spent my youth

Acting multiple roles

Watching the stage from ceilings

And words? You have none, I have plenty

But they mean nothing

The purity of your act

Holding my chin and neck

As only one who owns my heart

Tells me more than any soliloquy.

I am a writer

Who doesn’t believe…

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Doping in shadow

Amazing piece by OP ❤

Sudden Denouement Collective

by Oldepunk

doping in shadow

is it love or just thirst

I’m feral, impotent

turn, turn, turning

I am a quark

I am nothing until

counted

all the feels, like Lana,

so wretchedly exquisite.

razor-bladed surroundings, blank

faces pass so fast they blur

into Van Gogh ukiyo-e

hey you, still life

scrape away this Vernier scale

leave mass alone to ponder

weight, levitate

expensive conversations

feed the souls of our lonely

bottom feeding in retro

too young to know better

too old to care

bite into that scripture

mad dog driving

rushing home to….screen

divert, deviate, masturbate

unchained, infringed

so many fences

out of dollaz

but take no quarter(1 of 4)

doping in shadow

when you get this down, push

no matter the cost

is it hate or just hunger

you are unbroken, potent

let us begin

to explore(abhoreadore?)…..love or hate

thirst or hunger

in the end, we…

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The affiliate of memory

Such beauty from Candice ❤

TheFeatheredSleep

bb

Die is cast

thrown and tumbled

woman is born a girl

girl is born a woman

when she is young, learning to tie bows in sensible brown shoes

spit and shine, tighten pigtail, don’t get your bobby socks dirty

what does she know of her future?

when then, what hour marks, her turning, her awareness?

the tempora fragility of her succulent heart

will she be like her grandmother, a blubbering mess?

able to condone slithered evil in the hands of her husband?

look the other way, for her choices are meager

will she be like her mother, a loyal lover?

seeking a man willing to hold her closer to the sun

melt Icarus, melt, till you can stand the radiance no longer

but what of your child? The one you think is poison and deadly nightshade

what will she be like? In that wicked knowing?

when after-birth is dried…

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