Bloody Hands That Let Go

Wounded Memories

The way my hands bleed
Every time I hold onto you
I swear I try to not let you go
But the blood
it’s just so fucking slippery
Any every time
you slip through
my bloody hands
I lose more of me
than I lose of you
I wish I remembered
how to cry
How to let go of my demons
And maybe then
just maybe then
I could finally learn
To hold you the way
You deserve to be held
And never fucking let go
of you again

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3AM Melancholy

Wounded Memories

Awake at 3 am, wondering if she’s awake too, aching with thoughts of you. Knowing though, that she’s probably not. She’s sleeping, tangled with someone else. You look over, see a stranger next to you, and wonder what happened in your life, where did it break down this bad, and will it always be this broken.

Maybe there was a single moment, a catalyst that started it all. Or maybe it just eroded, one spec at a time. And then you realize it doesn’t really matter does it… The how. Only that it is.

Maybe tonight is just another mask. Melancholy, to go with the others. Maybe this introspection will pass and another mask slip on, and maybe this ache will pass. Too many maybe’s.

As much as I love the night, it’s never quite good to me. Torn between sleeplessness with its ugly self realizations and nightmares that rip…

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Mouth Full of Butterflies

Wounded Memories

She was strong
When what
She really wanted
Was to be delicate
Like a butterfly

And so that’s
What she let
The world see
A delicate butterfly

But the world
Had taught
Her lessons
She never wanted
To learn

It was no place
For delicate butterflies

And so
She would teach
The world
Her time
For delicate
Was over

She was now
A strong
Beautiful dragon
With a bloody mouth
Full of butterflies

Epilogue
Over the years I’ve had many dreams and nightmares about dragons eating butterflies. I have no idea what it means, but the imagery is always vivid. And when an amazing Twitter account that I follow changed her avi to a picture of a woman with a bloody butterfly in her mouth, it immediately caused a visceral reaction, and I was compelled to write this, with her permission.

Thank you @CrystalsChaotic for the inspiration and letting me…

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Home

Wounded Memories

I was once in a house in a city, continents, even an ocean away, and I felt more at home than home ever did. I know what you’re wondering – what was this city?

And you see, that’s exactly the wrong question. It didn’t matter what house, what city, even what continent away.

No, the question is why home has never once, in all my life, felt like home.

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