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Wounded Memories

~ Anonymous place to let spill my wounded memories

Wounded Memories

Monthly Archives: September 2015

This Alley

14 Monday Sep 2015

Posted by woundedmemories in Poetry

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alone, Poetry

I’ve walked this alley before
Lonely and dark
The only sounds
Echoes of my footsteps

I’ve walked this alley before
I never seem to be able
To avoid the sound
Of those lonely echoes

I’ve walked this alley before
Every story
Seems to end the same
Me walking
Down this alley again

I Don’t Understand

11 Friday Sep 2015

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Poetry

I’ve walked
Through the sands
Of Egypt
At the base
Of the great pyramids
And still
I’m no closer
To understanding
I’ve knelt
At the temple
Of Delphi
And still
I don’t understand
And I don’t know
If there are no answers
Or we simply
Haven’t figured out
What the questions
Really are

She Walked Away

09 Wednesday Sep 2015

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Loss, Love, Poetry

She took a piece of me
As she walked away
I might have been able
To stop her somehow
Prevent her from leaving
But I decided that day
That I was better off
Without that broken
Piece of me

Another Day

09 Wednesday Sep 2015

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Anger, Poetry, Sorrow

The clock strikes midnight
And you realize
That for better or worse
You’ve survived another day

You give a sigh
Relief or regret
You’re never quite sure
Inside your demons relax

Soon though the moment passes
Your demons wake back up
Because you know
There’s another day coming

I Can’t Find the Silence Within

07 Monday Sep 2015

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Anger, Poetry

Screaming
Just to hear the echoes
Anything
To block out the noises
In my head
Scratching and clawing
Memories
Of the living
And of the dead
Screaming
Just to drown out
These things inside
Memories
Of ghosts and sin
I’ve nowhere to hide
And I can’t seem to find
The silence within

The Meaning(s) of Love

04 Friday Sep 2015

Posted by woundedmemories in Poetry

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Tags

Love, Poetry, Sorrow

Love
Is such a powerful word
But isn’t it funny
How that same word
Can mean two
Totally different things
Coming from
Two different people
She said that word
And I know she meant it
I just don’t think she meant it
The same way I did

Bloody Stains

04 Friday Sep 2015

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dark, Poetry, writing

Bloody stains on the table
Evidence
That he’s been writing again
Cutting himself open
So his demons
Can leak out
He keeps hoping that one day
Either his demons will
Have said enough
Or his veins
Will have no more blood
But every cut
Every word
Just bleeds some more

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Recent Posts

  • Immeasurable
  • In the Balance
  • The Nightmare Begins
  • This Dark Room
  • Almost

Recent Comments

woundedmemories on OK
bearpokes on OK
woundedmemories on OK
Antanya In The Fog on OK
Antanya In The Fog on I Have No Idea How

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