10:45 AM - 
4 comments
4 comments
The Pulse
It's in the palms of my hands,
in the wiring of my veins;
pumping, pumping... blood
from organ to organ,
up to the cave of my brain.
There it lives. Inside me.
Devouring me. Chewing away
the sands of sane.
4 comments:
It sounds as if you have been or perhaps someone you know is or was a drug addict. But nonetheless a perfect work of art.
I hold my love.
It fills my heart pumping,
through my veins, and my
heart beat accelerates,
my fear decreases. I feel
whole, because it is inside me.
I hold my addiction. It is
My Love. And I keep it
close to me. I hold
My Love.
I feel as if this poem is not completely finished. Like there is something left unsaid that still needs to be said. Though, it does have a flow to it that I rather like.
What is the addiction? Or is that for the reader to find out within themselves? It leaves me with a lot of questions but not in a bad way. Kind of dark though.
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