Stains

There’s no tears shed on this ground
That hasn’t been there before
Or blood
That hasn’t carelessly been spilt
All things are taken
Stored
Remembered
Soaked in
Dried and looked over
Much like the presence
Of some distinct pain
Of the weariness of what is being offered

Release

All tangible and real
All misunderstood
Shed and grown back again
Like a second skin
The one that takes in the dirt
And leaves you clean
And unaware

You are the spasm this world pushed forth

Rub against a forgotten particle
Your soul, grazing flesh
And suddenly
Things tensen
And you remember how easily it was
To let things go
To let them sink in before they’re looked over.

You walk on eggshells
Half afraid you’ll feel yourself again
Or touch a spot on the ground that forces rememberance
(was this a touch? Or)
How it was to bleed for the things you
Wanted

Or

How it was to truly be lonely
Or to break and to feel something.

You’re taking the world back into you
The inkwell, the stain the imperfection
And borrowing broken pieces like a living breathing lie

Stains

lolowe

Rockaway Beach, United States

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