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paul-celanoPoems
Neck muscles vigorously strained Pulled out like a wet frail rotted rope Fastened together by a rusted lock with piercing sharp edges Porcelain beads of sweat cling to pulsating vines Staring up, as if something of hope is there Intense powered complex thinking No movement, just a frozen dead stare Straight glance of light into a darkness covered cave A battle royale of steroid induced thoughts The mind, a cage match of soft pinkish flesh Each thought it wearing armor of dull chilled spikes Pain shoots through the cranium as each thought collapses into the cage The eyes, a vortex into another world, look onward Tears stream down of drunk crimson liquid Leaving a salted burned trail down each toughened cheek Stinging each eye with a impoverished sob The mouth of dried ***** sand paper stays creaked open A spiral of silk heated air escapes, but with no sound attached Quivered lips cut from bitter winded blades A soiled red with a blanket of cotton white The position of deep depressed nauseating thoughts The body is powerless and deathly limp Glued to the seated area, as if it always lived there A doll, a puppet to its overpowering super brain Stuck in a painful vision Will I return?
0
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 9:13 PM UTC
A Painful Thought
Neck muscles vigorously strained Pulled out like a wet frail rotted rope Fastened together by a rusted lock with piercing sharp edges Porcelain beads of sweat cling to pulsating vines Staring up, as if something of hope is there Intense powered complex thinking No movement, just a frozen dead stare Straight glance of light into a darkness covered cave A battle royale of steroid induced thoughts The mind, a cage match of soft pinkish flesh Each thought it wearing armor of dull chilled spikes Pain shoots through the cranium as each thought collapses into the cage The eyes, a vortex into another world, look onward Tears stream down of drunk crimson liquid Leaving a salted burned trail down each toughened cheek Stinging each eye with a impoverished sob The mouth of dried ***** sand paper stays creaked open A spiral of silk heated air escapes, but with no sound attached Quivered lips cut from bitter winded blades A soiled red with a blanket of cotton white The position of deep depressed nauseating thoughts The body is powerless and deathly limp Glued to the seated area, as if it always lived there A doll, a puppet to its overpowering super brain Stuck in a painful vision Will I return?
©2008 Paul Celano
paul-celano
Written by
paul-celano
American
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 9:13 PM UTC
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