CURTAIN CALL

Posted: February 20, 2012 in Poems
Tags: , , , , ,

There’s a poem crawling out my throat waiting to be written

The bug has bitten

Screaming at me

Why can’t you see?

 

I pause

Let the elevator in my mind change floors

It needs to be an opus

I’m desirous of a purpose

 

It’s a sweaty secret

A baby blue blanket

That gently caresses your breast

And rises and falls with each and every breath

 

You have a confusing way

Of mouthing the words but you never actually say

How you feel

Because somehow then it would lose its appeal

 

You caught me off guard

It’s like a broken shard

That indelicately breaks my skin

Giving me my hit of heroin

 

My hands no longer shake

That’s how it equates

I’m an addict

And you’re dealing in magic

 

I’m walking a tight wire

Playing with fire

I know I should look but not touch

But it’s like I can’t walk and you’re my crutch

 

I know you’re going to drag me down

But I’ll go gladly without making a sound

You are my obsession

My body and my thoughts are your possession

 

I know we’ll never be together in the true sense of the word

And that strikes me as faintly absurd

But you make the bed in which you lie

And my morals are the bargaining chips with which I compromise

 

I am only destined to have you for now

Soon the performance will be over and you’ll take a bow

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Comments
  1. colonialist says:

    Definitely takes one on a trip about a trip, but the nature of the trip is up to interpretation! Not so innocent. Not so, Innocent?

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