The Moth Diaries, Poetry
Poem 48- Pulse Tracks
as the hate envelopes me,
i dive under the velvet sheets of it
and rub my face into the soft folds.
burrying my head into its luxurious pillows,
surrendering to the delicious layers of pleasure
that hide within its depths.
hate does not ask anything in return,
instead it sacrifices itself for your enjoyment.
i wish to smother myself with these delicate
intricate patterns that embelish the quilt.
i feel it taking over my being,
rushing through the tracks left by my pulse,
consuming the energy that feeds my thoughts.
and so as my whole body sumbits willingly to this delight
i grow numb, cold as the grave.
enduring only to recieve more waves of excitment,
but as the waves come and come and come,
my breathing shortens, my ribs cease to lift.
because the hate has taken control of my brain,
my thoughts, my being.
© Lucy Griffin April05
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