Wendy Bureau


Art Of No Name


Flesh carved not of creation
Nor of accidental occurrence
An act of aggression, release
Confirms self control's reassurance

Slicing through emotions skin
Scarred of previous, painless dance
Fearlessly unleashing blood dropp tears
Razor ritual, symbolic performance

Exposed in one's own solitude
Long sleeve shirts, disguise the cry
Hideous cravings for carving
Such a strength, without deny

One cut, two cut, a sighed exhale
Blade begging for more
Third and fourth cut, deeper yet
Shed blood designs the floor

Euphoric high barely comprehensible
Satisfaction fed and bled
Clotting, scabbing secrets
Insatiable desires, dripping red

An artist of skin scratching
Torment's tattoo, forever maimed
Self designed on body canvas
A work of art remains unnamed

Submitted: Monday, March 09, 2009
Edited: Saturday, May 07, 2011

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  • Eir Lindstrom-holmy (5/9/2012 9:54:00 PM)

    I've never understood why a person would cut themselves, and your poem has brought me much closer to seeing. You're a powerful writer. Looking at a random selection of your other poems, it seem to me that you tend to stick to similar forms in your poems, it could just be the ones I looked at, but I wondered if you experimented, for example with free verse. Great title / concept and very concise evocative language. (Report) Reply

  • Bob Gibson (4/7/2009 10:36:00 PM)

    Wendy! you have captured here not only the pain of the portrait but of the unknown sculpture bravo! (Report) Reply

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