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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Experience · #2242158
This poem is about body image and mental health. It is my first poem.
The water is getting cold,
My skin falls off my back,
Into the waves.
An attack to commence,
My muscles to throb,
And blood beats in my ear.
'My dear,
It was only a leaf,
you need keep your body,
Intact, in grief'.
Minime, no, my flesh,
Need fall off my back,
Scolded and bring me the kettle,
And the saw.
I need not lay here anymore.

One piece at a time, break
Away do I fall and sink,
To the ocean bed.
I see red beneath rice paper skin
in a hum of life, I need to burn.
'My wife,
There is nothing left,
Your skin a fallen leaf in
The sea',
And my hair, my dear,
Is straw and ice.
Why do you scream to me,
My body in the sea,
Scratched letters? In my bones,
Down soft and boiled,
To feast.

'This is the beast,
I may watch you no longer,
No longer are you there,
To watch'.
Oh, woe, let me dissolve,
I am already in reach.
A leech, you are, suckle on,
My woe is not your plight.
I taint water with my blood,
It is emeralds, embellished,
Skin embossed by that leaf,
A thief,
In my stomach steals,
A spark and leaves empty.
Hunger is the beast for
Salted water.

'You are someone's daughter,
Someone's wife,
And yet your veins are stripped oak.
The sapphires have sunk in,
Their sockets.
Your meat is so tender, sliding,
Your fingers are chalk'.
Do not talk, I know,
Let me be snow, inhale and,
I float from the waves, leave,
My armour behind.
It crumbles now, stale,
Stagnates, my flesh, in grief,
The Water is getting cold.
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