I'm high
I float
Angelic
Psychedelic
Gazing down
Then terrified
I slowly sink
Into the void
Of prickling sweat and shaking
Aching joints
And craving
Waiting
For the next fix
Eyes and every orifice
Red-rimmed
Check my phone again
The bed's a twisted bloody mess
Again, again
No message
Nothing
Darkness
Fitful sleep
*
The door
I run
And cling
He deals
I pay
With all I've got
He's here
He's not
He's here
My dread undead
Addiction
Hot and cold
He bares the scars
The needle enters
Pumps me up
And leaves me gasping
Grasping drops
To rub around my glistening gums
Each time
He tends the wound
The crack
It mends
Too soon it's oozing
Raw again
I'm broke
He's back
In random spurts
He's here
And not
It hurts
It hurts
*****
Intense passion is sometimes akin to an addiction. I have never taken drugs, don't even partake of alcohol (aren't you happy with your brain in its natural state?), so am not condoning drug use nor encouraging such experimentation, though I would always encourage a legal, wanton, unrestrained, self-indulgent and self-administered fix of endorphins released by a good, hard shagging.
Go get yourself a fix. Have a great weekend,
Alexandra xxx
I loved it! There's not many poems like that, of any genre, that I could pick up the rhythm and tempo and read with such ease. Si
ReplyDelete