sometimes I still feel
the allure of tearing flesh
of arms ripped wide open
sharpened nails laughing
“razors are for the weak”
blood…
red
released
warm and sweet
eternal sleep
it’s mesmerizing
the illusion
the delusion
the freedom
from blue
to red
to black…ness
night
this is forever
no more fight
no more feel
no more tears
no more need
just bleed
just bleed
just bleed
Congratz on the 500....if I was not silly enough to remove approx. 850 poems from my den I think mine woulda been close to 1500...but now i AM REPOSTING alot of them!!
wow deep potent write, a little scary but vibrant work
Felix
Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader)
Reviewed on November 30, 2005
Bleeding good too.....
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on November 30, 2005
Cutting has come into its own over the last decade or so. I see a lot of poetry associated with this, mental breakdown, I suppose would be how to describe it. Is it a feeling of unworthiness that causes these self-inflicted scars on people's bodies? You say "don't worry," I hope so. Five hundred. Amazing. I have a bunch also, but since I get a little hot-tempered from time to time and take all of mine off in fits of pique, my resume is drastically dimished. Liked your dark poem.
A true page-turner, Jeff Ovall’s futurist work of fiction peers into the history of a world not yet realized, yet ominously closer than most could imagine. A time in which the past has been reborn and humankind, in all its glory and misery, has final
“We’re going to use nine megaton warheads in space and we’re not sure they’re large enough to be effective. Why would you even consider using kiloton-range surface-to-air warheads as back-up?” The answer was succinct. “Because they’re all we have.”
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