Zura’s Hysterical Realm Kills the Innocent

I warned you near the brook.

I’ve seen her evil smile and piercing look.

The gushing of a red drop

That never ceases to stop.

She tastes of poison beams

Her scarlet passion steams.

Those brown eyes and locks of auburn

Causes your head to turn.

I’m sick of this neglect

You make me feel like a worthless reject.

She keeps diamonds in her eyes

Tries to covet secret spies.

Drink in her beauty and sacred stars

She’s bound to burst your mortal bars.

Have you ever hear of her woeful tale?

Of how she’s been left with a tormented bale?

Her lover killed her fragile heart

Leaving it to become a mass of tart.

She bears the crown of outcast queen,

But I’ll bet this side you’ve never seen.

Little Miss Perfection down to the bone

You’d never imagine how she feels so alone.

Stop trying to force her into love

Her past isn’t as pure as a dove.

Scars of former lovers adorn her shorn

Depicting just how savagely she’s been torn.

I warned you all along

She’s like a creepy Turin fog.

Don’t fall into her delicate hands

For soon, you too, will no longer stand.

She’s full of anger and violent stems

She wears thorns as diadems.

I will not ask of you to kill

As she most certainly will,

Your deepest purest emotions

To be replaced by her evil notions.

Runaway innocent boy, before you’re caught

For pretty soon she’ll invade your thoughts.

***

Did you enjoy this poem? You can find this poem and many others in Bleed Like Me: Poems for the Broken

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Poetry: Manuel’s Letter

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Dear Manuel,

Here I must confess

All that I’ve ever desired to.

My emotional state is one turmoil mess.

I’m in a state of confusion,

That I don’t even know with whom I mesh.

I keep on falling behind

With no chances to run and hide.

My dreams of glory fog my mind

But to my disgrace,

I’m only a legend in my own mind.

I long for purity but I practice sex.

I crave for love but it’s lust that I get.

Not caring for myself.

But yet I’m said to have a narcissistic disorder.

Conventional beauty wrapped

Around an anti-conformist mind.

Confusion-confusion-confusion

I kiss so many but love no one.

The ones that are closest to me

Are the ones that hurt me the most.

The ones that are the farthest from me

Are the ones that I yearn for their attention.

Sorry, for my lament

I wouldn’t have confessed my sins

If I wouldn’t feel that you’re the other side of me.

You’re my secret identity.

My mask—

I am hiding behind your grandeur.

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Poetry: Marlon Brando

He had so much love for me

That it often made him crazy

Yelling from the streets

Like Marlon Brando

Shouting, “Stella!”

He had so much love for me

That he wasn’t sure how to suffocate it

Often his mannerisms were crude

Thinking that I owed him

Affection, thinking he were

Marlon Brando and who always

Got the girl

He had so much love for me

That it poisoned him from the inside

Because rejection was seen as disdain

But pity has no place for passion

Nor can a friendship be forced

Into a relationship

Because he wasn’t Marlon Brando

And the script I wrote

Didn’t cast him as the hero

He merely had a supporting role

I didn’t want him at my premiere

Nor did I want him shouting

Beneath my window, “Stella!”

Thinking he were Marlon Brando.

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Poetry: Last Wish

I would drown myself,

If I knew,

That it would eliminate you.

I would drown myself,

Even if,

I would regret it.

Maybe for once I’d be in peace.

With you, out of my head.

I’m only sane if I don’t sleep,

Because that’s where you creep.

Sleepless nights,

Wakeful days,

I must remain this way.

I would drown myself,

If I was sure,

That it would make me pure.

I would drown myself,

If I was certain,

That you would finally leave me alone.

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Poetry: Love Does Kill

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Long ago, in a lost dream,

I saw myself dying.

The look of surprise and pain crossed my face;

(The blade went down.)

It punctured my heart.

All the lies that you told me,

at that moment seemed so trivial.

All the hurt that you had done to me,

at that moment was all forgotten.

(The blade came down harder.)

It reached my lonely soul,

My screams of agony diffused with your own.

This death so slowly;

It hurts me even more.

Why did my love have to eliminate my soul?

All of my tender, love, care; caused this killer

to leave me bare.

(The blade comes down, once more.)

Farewell, to this tormented love.

Did you enjoy this poem? You can find this poem and many others in Bleed Like Me: Poems for the Broken

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Poetry: A Mother’s Love by Erica Ruhe

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Withered, wasted, wanted, but not for lack of sleep

This heart has known no trail but that of defeat.

Wanted, wasted, weathered in this place of self-loathing and despair

I know not what life has to offer me outside the joy of my own

Wallowing.

What have I given in this life?

What is the purpose of this strife?

Where is the joy that I wish to see in my world?

I have not yet given it life in this day, this week, this year.

I have donned a selfish fishbowl on the lenses of my eyes

And need neither my wants nor my selfish desires of the heart.

I need only love of self, of my neighbor, and my mother who supports my feet.

She is my foundation.

She is of earth and water and fire and water.

She is all I have longed for in my own desires.

How I have taken her for granted, this loving mother

Who feeds and clothes me and puts me to sleep

Each night under a blanket of stars and willowed darkness.

I have appreciated her with only half my heart but as I lie here

In this grass and count the clouds I am comforted by

The Love

I’ve never seen in myself

Reflected her skies.

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Poetry: 23:57 by Azzurra Nox

It seems as if this time never ends,

When your beauty makes my heart bend.

I’ve been popping pills in the night

Because I no longer have my source of light.

Counting black sheep until dawn

You always annoy me when you yawn.

Do you care when you see me cry?

Or do you think it’s all a lie?

I’ve been trying to think this through.

But with each passing day my time is due.

Would you care if I confessed

That your love makes me feel blessed?

I have this desire to die for you.

But I’m not sure if you’ll want me to.

And not because I think you’d care,

But rather because you’d feel bare

To know that your careless love

Has caused my state of despair.

It seems as if this time never ends.
When will your beauty make my heart bend?

Before it all falls apart,

And I’ll have to crawl back to the start

Trying to love you again,

Because this time never ends

As my heart will always bend for you.

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Did you enjoy this poem? You can find this poem and many others in Bleed Like Me: Poems for the Broken

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Poetry: Paper Monsters

A black Sicilian veil cloaks my ashen thoughts.

He tastes like half-eaten candies,

Licorice and cinnamon.

Cobblestone streets reflect minuscule paper monsters.

My heart is filled with a fiery lava, the kind that

Explodes from Etna in the sky at night.

I’ve been waiting for his return.

I’m afraid that soon the fire in my heart

Will fade and become an ice black.

Almond blossoms adorn my bed,

His last words echo in my brain and I writhe

Restlessly….

My body aches for his touch—

I just want to break a little….

I dream of becoming a tragic heroine

A Giovanni Verga character incarnate.

This is how you draw a broken heart:

Dip your fingers in blood and don’t

Hesitate to botch the final project.

His image hovers over me like

A storm cloud in April…

Ever present but translucent

As the flesh fades to cold coal.

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Did you enjoy this poem? You can find this poem and many others in Lost Girls Go Everywhere: Poetry & Prose on Amazon!

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Poetry: Midnight Secret

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It’s that time of night

Where I shut off my brain

Where I cast out the world

And I am alone

With you.

I purposely never speak of you

Frightened that my eyes will

Light up at your very memory

Too scared

That I won’t be able to conceal

The sugared affection in my voice

Were I to utter your name.

My tongue might lie

But my heart cannot.

I’ve never understood

What you and I are

But whatever we are

Our souls are forever intertwined

I’m the Catherine to your Heathcliff

And we’re just as hapless

As Wuthering Heights

It’s that time of night

Where I can relive our moments together

As I slowly drift to sleep

With hopes that I’ll meet you in my dreams

Because I know that once I’m awake

I will have to be without you

Another day.

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Short Fiction: My World is Glass by Erica Ruhe

My world is glass. Sometimes it’s a window. Sometimes it’s a mirror. Sometimes it’s dark and smoky. Sometimes it is radiant white. Sometimes it is as clear as the sky. When reflections take me to dark spaces within, sometimes I need a clear view, a clean window to look out and free my thoughts for a while. Sometimes these flights of fancy become hollow and vapid and my soul yearns to look deep into the well of the tragic and trudge through its depths for meaning. Sometimes my diversions lead me to dive into darkness I did not know was there. My world is glass. Sometimes I need a window and sometimes I need a mirror. Fragile, capable of distortion and illusion and yet the most convincing proof I have of my own existence. It allows me to peer through, and in to, and out of, and not. When the looking glass breaks I pray it will be the one that hides the truth of myself. It may not be the window. It may not be the mirror. Perhaps it is the lens that is bound to my eye. Until then I will look for that which is true; that which is me. Sometimes I need a window and sometimes I need a mirror but each will reveal that which I desire to see.

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