Monday, August 20, 2012

Heart Disease

Does clotted blood curdle, 
does it skim
Do I get red stained powder in place of milk
Does it rattle in its cage
Knocked twice over
Does the pump rust over
Squeak with ill-use
Does it grind to a halt
Allegiance shift
What is that ache, consistent drummer
Innocuous, albeit a drug
Do I love the dignity
Torn, laid bare
Scratched off as with a scab
Humiliation wells in, as a douse of ink
Red. I am afraid
I self destruct
So I can taste the bittersweet
The pump, the stain
Tainting the vestiges
Of the highs
False highs, abysmal lows



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