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Without Blood and Fire

A Contemplation on Love

And so I ask myself

Eyes glazed over 

Hands not shaking

Heartbeat contained 

Can you really love without bleeding? 

The world, an unsolvable maze of feelings 

Turn right, think one thought, feel my heart break 

Turn left, feel another, consume myself with him 

How many times can you scream out for real until your screams aren't real anymore? 

How much fear can you handle until fear stops existing? 

Will you cry when you start to feel nothing at all? 

I'm mind fucked, they say

Trauma protects you from yourself

But I'm not sure I even exist inside me anymore 

And yet

Sadness is just a word scribbled across a page I forced myself to write

Fear transforms itself into a monster I introduce myself to

Are you there? 

Do you feel what I used to feel for him for me? 

Can you truly love without bleeding? 

Why do you make water fall from sun-blistered eyes

Deserts without depth

"Do you hang up the phone and miss me?"

Tell me why I don't know answers to my own questions

Much less yours

Search for truth only to wonder if truth is real

Can you really love without bleeding?

Followed him through Alice's rabbit hole

Wonderland was feeling the loss of him, of someone, of something

Hell is wondering if I feel anything at all 

Quiet calm or loud disruption 

I sense my mind is a crack on the pavement

Be careful not to step on it, because 

Breaking means coming alive again

I'm not sure what it meant to lie my head back and feel choked by him

Do I mean literally or figuratively? 

I still cry when someone enters me 

I cry if I don't feel 

Does that mean I feel something? 

Missing the thrill of an angered flame

Maybe I wished he'd have hit me again 

Maybe then I would've felt pain from the wound 

Maybe then I would cringe at the thought of it

Or maybe I'm so afraid to love a man again

To watch his gaze eat me alive 

To make me feel alive and 

To create life inside

Maybe I'm scared to open a pathway to my heart and again and again and 


But in my heart I know it's not him 

He makes me feel seen



So why do I feel less alive? 

Have I become a junky for broken love and pointless relations? 

The one before was an apple of Eden

I bit in so soon

I don't have the messages anymore 

They're branded somewhere I can't see

The back of my neck

Yet they seem to make me, me 

And when they fucked me up

Inside out

Do I mean literally or figuratively? 

Back scraped on the side of that road

Being pushed upward, upward, upward

Into the fire 

Fire lit 

"This is how you deserve to be fucked"

"I think I'm bleeding"

"Shut up"

"Good girl"

"You're perfect"

Can you really love without bleeding?

And I answer my own question. 

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Without Blood and Fire
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