Post by Pseudomuse on Feb 16, 2006 12:31:36 GMT -8
Before you read this poem, I would like to make a few things clear. Yes, the poem is about two girls, yes I use strong language, and allude to adult situations. If you have a problem with any of the above, I would suggest not reading it. But if not, go ahead. This is infact my newest poem. First draft, so it needs some work. I'd appreciate any comments/suggestions you can give.
PM
PS. The title is from the word malaise -
malaise \muh-LAYZ; -LEZ\, noun:
1. A vague feeling of discomfort in the body, as at the onset of illness.
2. A general feeling of depression or unease.
PM
PS. The title is from the word malaise -
malaise \muh-LAYZ; -LEZ\, noun:
1. A vague feeling of discomfort in the body, as at the onset of illness.
2. A general feeling of depression or unease.
m.a.l.a.i.s.e (Second Edit)
-I am going to die-
she whimpers fingers
gouging at my scalp
tangledbrambles in my hair
kisses placating graphs of
traintrackingrubyskin.
she shoves her
tongue in my throat
strangling, pleading
(actions exploding sunbursts
against deficient rigmarole)
please, please, please
save me
nails find purchase
in yielding sanctuary.
(my febrile-fevered body)
she always comes back to me.
always.
I can taste the tang of
everyothermadeformag man-monster
that has made her bleed-and-scream.
it suffocates, ripping my ability to surface,
that she had fled the flesh of me for another.
the pressure pressing my heart analogous
to the pressure of she between
me and my moth-mind obsession.
we never talk.
we smileandlaughandflirtandfuck
but talking is taboo cast away in our
wet-white-heat
cantos of our slicksliding bodies
(neologism has too much head
not enough heart).
I never get enough
she never gets enough.
please, please, please
save me
she is the epitome of drugs
the passion worth all the pain
the slow deathdecaypurging
that slithers into my soul
like fangedobsidianasps.
cleopatra my darling
kiss me again.
-I am going to die-
she whimpers fingers
gouging at my scalp
tangledbrambles in my hair
kisses placating graphs of
traintrackingrubyskin.
she shoves her
tongue in my throat
strangling, pleading
(actions exploding sunbursts
against deficient rigmarole)
please, please, please
save me
nails find purchase
in yielding sanctuary.
(my febrile-fevered body)
she always comes back to me.
always.
I can taste the tang of
everyothermadeformag man-monster
that has made her bleed-and-scream.
it suffocates, ripping my ability to surface,
that she had fled the flesh of me for another.
the pressure pressing my heart analogous
to the pressure of she between
me and my moth-mind obsession.
we never talk.
we smileandlaughandflirtandfuck
but talking is taboo cast away in our
wet-white-heat
cantos of our slicksliding bodies
(neologism has too much head
not enough heart).
I never get enough
she never gets enough.
please, please, please
save me
she is the epitome of drugs
the passion worth all the pain
the slow deathdecaypurging
that slithers into my soul
like fangedobsidianasps.
cleopatra my darling
kiss me again.
