"intravenous" poems
A bleak motive, turning in a black backwards motion.
Fluent in rushing, pursuant in the crushing.
Ebony wood, the serenity compared to the knife.
A stifling recollection, within the house of corrections.
Was it a natural selection, gazing within the angel's reflection?
Garbed in white, and in her conviction.
A change of direction, now...
The resurrection of our mutual affection,
Was it over protection, or was it just mental rejection?
The pain was only an imperfection, built within all our disconnection.
My sense of direction gone within your vertical selection,
left with words- sharp like a needle;
sticking an intravenous injections.
So, should I offer my protection? Moments, within sight of the point of intersection?
No, keep on...
Keep on spreading the rejection infection.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC
Sustenance for friends and clients;
state your case – come one, come all.
The matron arms of Social Service
will not let you fall.
Food stamps make our nation stronger,
licked, then stuck on the public roll.
Social programs last much longer
adding recipients on the dole…
Like the Ephesian Diana
many are my benefits!
Mine the matriarchal manna;
latch and suckle at my teats.
Yours the client’s right to nurture.
Mother will supply your need;
Child, you must not fear the future –
feed, my baby, feed.
Call me nanny, call me Lord
just make sure you’re calling on me.
Mine are the gifts you can afford
they’re taxpayer-funded, worry-free!
Once you are latched I’ll keep it flowing
like an intravenous habit.
Keep that ****** situated
where your will can never grab it
Let it never cross your mind
that there’s an end to all lactation.
Cloward-Piven have refined
this titillation.
Love me. Need me. I’m the State.
Your well-being is my affair.
With your consent I’ll dominate,
because I care.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Verdant eyes, translucent pearls
speak in silent witness,
wounds unfurl
meaning revealed,
interrupted girl.
Safe in solidarity
prolific eccentricity,
the scandal of particularity.
Pouting mouth
grief - filled lips
alluring, set sail a thousand ships;
tempt me to leave harbor.
Arousing euphoria as such,
resistance, amity and distance
amour sans touch
her sense of humor transcends,
appeasing the mind’s thirst
a vogue sultana,
seasoned swagger
hair resplendent flame,
alternating cool, black
asymmetrical coiffure;
nonconforming demure
the renegade metaphor -
singular for sure, no cure.
Muted vanity, bathos piercing
the jaded circumference of banality;
pale protagonist servitude
the sapient palaver of the urbane,
covered patina of pretense,
induced coercion,
the commodity self
appearing abased
wearing lesions of lassitude.
Artistic chattel - eminent domain
preempting genius,
subsidiary of consuming narcissism
external locus of control;
surrender to the tentative,
fettered pendant, Venus in chains
arrested visionary bane
sterile savant, edifice of pain.
The soubrette, dubious incarnation
gravid ingénue of prevarication
imperceptible venue -
theatre of the absurd;
withdrawn siren,
solitude of necessity -
skin - slender veil of shame,
nearness loitering redemption;
moments envisage
the appointment with the soul;
ambiguity eschews clarity
awareness; ineluctable anxiety,
imago - centric confession
sacred pardon, seraphic venation
intravenous textures presume,
the tactile margins of liberty.
Therapeutic retrieval,
Sanguine,
beneath the portico of
individuation;
Your smile I hear,
recovered autonomy
blessed emancipation,
The scandal of particularity;
peculiar treasure
ironically captured
film, canvas,
prose profundity.
Ciphering as an ambling book,
I peruse you,
rendered captive
hypnotic avant-garde fiction,
spectator of denuded opacity
analogous reflection, I Mirror you.
A modest proposal - pontificate the imperative,
forgo the disposal, adapt your narrative,
the scandal of particularity -
resonate the echo, cogitate our propinquity
Love, imagination and destiny.
©2008 & 2011 W.S Warner
Sep 9, 2011
Sep 9, 2011 at 1:20 AM UTC
i am the controlled group
i expected interferon and
i got a saline injection
hepatitis c is the
monster
hiding under my skin
i've called for 300,000 favors
from faceless friends - IRC, IRBs, dietitians, physicians
to try to cheat the system
and to cheat the 4 horsemen
harbinging my own internal apocalypse
"If they don't give me anything,"
I began calmly to my wife;
"the scars on my guts will generate another
Chernobyl out of frustration;
out wanting to see my son graduate."
my white blood cell count is 3
and i will wreck this study
go to mexico
and buy as much real medicine
as i need to survive
rudely refusing the FDA's
50% miracle drug
the ingenious intravenous
sugar pill
i only have 3
white blood cells
circumventing valuable scientific knowledge
is not off the table
i will walk away in slow motion
after saving my liver from
hepatitis hellfire horse jockeys in lab coats
with the entirety of clinical research
burning behind me
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
Into the thought of our minds lies the soil of deception,
it is utterly a disgusting intravenous injection
Manipulation an deception are all around,
I felt embarrassed and put my country's flag down
I hate the way of how we tend to deceive,
and I utterly find trusting hard to believe
In lying and deceit everyone's a target,
its almost like a cash receiving market
Deception and arrogance are like a worldly and deadly disease
there is no cure which brings me to my knees
In life everything determines your fate,
so make good decisions before its all too late...
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC
Amaryllis in the Spring
because it's a pure & innocent thing
before a summer of rockets,
debris of hope—
*the Age of Discovery,
the Punishment of Lust*
an intravenous poison of decline forms
the new math: eye value minus itself
in waltz-time the body is radio-active,
there is no such thing as labor saving machinery
ask Garbo or Monroe, very happy one moment,
the next there was nothing left
their machines did the heavy lifting,
but one was not the loneliest number
Nov 30, 2021
Nov 30, 2021 at 10:14 PM UTC
The reason there aren't so many vampyres
around these days is they don't like TV hype
and the intrusions of TV news crews. It transpires
that vampyres prefer late hours and like low light levels
because they're egregarious and don't like to be seen inebrious
in the middle of their heinous, intravenous revels.
Also, unfavorable reviews about transfusions
and the confusion caused by AIDS, at this juncture,
has definitely reduced the appeal of being seduced
by some crazed and gurgling Transylvanian
bloodsucker lusting to puncture the jugular,
or any other available vein again,
especially when you don't know if they've disinfected their fangs
or only licked them after draining their last victim.
After all, vampyres were brought up in castles
when there weren't antiseptics for gargles
and they haven't been taught prophylactic criteria
against such apocalyptic viral bacteria.
And if you've ever seen vampyres with condoms
on their teeth, you'll know what I mean.
It's a scream. Everyone finds them hilarious. It'd be easier
to die laughing than to go down with anemia.
Also, like everyone else, vampyres hate ridicule.
No-one likes being seen as the fool.
And the other reason vampyres are scarce now
is that there are so many genuine muggers, hoods, crims,
druggies, financial leeches, homicidal maniacs,
psychopathic liars and genocidal tendencies to conjure up real fears
out there, that there's not much room left for quaint old-fashioned vampyres, poor dears.
But do you know something? Even though they were naughty,
I miss their occasional **** I know it was gory,
but those kisses, oh boy. We got into the femoral artery inside the thigh. It was ***** But when AIDs came along,
that was it. Definitely bye-bye. Nobody wanted to die.
These are the facts.
So these vampyres were starving and they reverted to bats.
Did a midnight flit,
and that's the end of my story.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
dear god of needle ***** and poisoned well
i pray you find my mother
cold and dry and unfeeling
something you can draw no moisture out of
a different god struck a rock with a staff
a long long time ago
and water came to cool his throat
but there are no miracles here
so you can please stop beating her now
dear god of gluttonous apothecary
my mother's body is a mathematical
uncertainty
it is a function with limits
her veins are rolling with their bellies full
of chemicals that burn
her hair runs from the scalp the way
two legs would
from a house going up in flames
my mother's body
is a house going up in flames
i am a child that is terrified of a monster
under the bed
i am helpless to a thing i can feel but
cannot see
dear god of gasoline remedy
your counterintuitive science
your black dream
takes her body like a new land
teaches her it's wretched language
it rapes and pillages
it steals the recognition
that sparks her eyes when she looks in mine
dear god of intravenous dark rider
let her live to see a day
she can wake and not be bound
to her biology
dear god of pink ribbon tourniquet
let her breathe and take it for granted again
dear god of careful rampage
finish what you have started
and lock the door behind you
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
He’s trick, like enrapturing
Wherein lies the paradox of his pantheism parapet’s paragon
Extraversion embezzlements and euthanasia extortions
Diction’s enunciation echoes of opaque opulence
Its redolence a savory waft
The evolution of psychic clarity’s élan vital
Bizarre dichotomous augur the singer’s aural austerity
Gypsy Queen, his guitar’s moniker, romanced aimed intention
Elaborate elliptical empathy endeavors for posterity’s predication
Pandemically phatic propriety venerations
Their apex crux axis beyond finite solution
Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma
Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix
The individual must remain sacrosanct
Traipsing through the fallow furrows of assimilation’s xenobiotic barratry
Like capillaries' capricious and intravenous intrepid
Incalculably sensual beyond emotion’s expression
Impetus intrigue's intuitional verve
Ethology’s entelechy, theosophy’s theophany
Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities
Futurity's corporeally preternatural fatidic
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
Beloved
I yearn night and day
each blood tinged second
for the intravenous
of Your intoxicating Presence
like ripe, ruby grapes crave
to be tread and pressed into
the drunken bliss
of holy wine
Like the cow maiden Radha
and Princess Mirabai
pine for their peacock plumed
Blue Lord’s
rapturous darshan
Like Magdalene’s tears rolling
down her love soaked cheeks
seek only to wash and kiss
gentle Jesus’ celestial
Lotus feet
Like the great scholar Rumi
scouring the desolate streets
of Damascus
searches for even the
faintest echo
ghostly glimpse
of his beloved
God mad vagabond
Shams of Tabriz
Like my breath liberated from this
time bound, earthly form
soars free, unfettered
a shooting star
exploding into the
chaotic brilliance
of Your perfect Love
Your incomprehensible, pristine,
pure, primordial Peace
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
One morning I find my f(r)iends’ eyes are lead;
That evening I pace in gullible love.
Night falls, I find wished-on stars have fled.
With intravenous need their hearts drop dead:
The death boyhood knew nothing of.
At daybreak I find my f(r)iends’ eyes are lead.
I walk encased in a narrowing shed
That keeps me hidden from the sun above.
Night falls, I find wished-on stars have fled.
From the pulse of my trusting veins they’re bled;
The needle fits like a vinegary glove.
One morning I find my f(r)iends’ eyes are lead.
In them I saw lunacy's fountainhead,
Drug-sickness, soul-loss, young skin grown mauve.
Night falls, I find wished-on stars have fled.
Maybe if I’d not trailed they’re pitch-black tread,
I’d be whole: A full, unpitted olive.
One morning I see my f(r)iends’ eyes are lead;
(Nightfall!) I know wished-on stars have fled.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:58 AM UTC
Favourite nerve-wracking days
meet carefully sweet irony
Journeying continues,
insinuating ignored answers
Porcelain begs,
hoping painful exists
Difficult burning overcame
caring tender memories
Doctor specifically outlines:
indefinite,
obscure,
bland reality
Endlessly changing predictions
force desperate safe haven
nothing helps
Miss doll lovely,
perfect,
shaken,
abandoned,
sick,
dead
Wishing stops,
scarring trust,
tearing irrelevant curiosity,
keeping nightmares closer
Month,
month,
month,
month
Repetitively
wrecked voice
struggling situations
Oh,
Miss doll lovely,
secure,
particular,
neutral,
enveloped,
unglued
Spontaneity analyzes fortifications
forcing unprotected souls
overtaken faces
wearing hurtful aspect
Month,
month,
month,
month
Intravenous consequences
silver surgeon
irrelevant grace upon
her heavy neckline
medicated extremities
Oh,
Miss doll lovely,
designed unconscious,
forced,
weary,
sober,
sedated
Friends opinions
especial curiosity
suppressed predictions believed
feet solely on Reason Street
accompanied by Pushing Negativity
nothing’s changing
Second,
Minute,
Day,
Week,
Month,
month,
month,
month
Oh,
Miss doll lovely,
evident,
profound,
bare,
suffering,
dying
Loneliness laughs
limits reached
heartbreaks stated
emotional crashing
déjà vu stays,
a wishful memory
deceit captivates each:
Second,
Minute,
Hour,
Day,
Week,
Month,
month,
month,
month
A curve catatonic
victim tattered at gates of steel
guarded
grasping winter
greatest attempts trying to understand
Nurse,
feet, ankles, organized steps
communications
understandings
Fractured faces cry
broken tears
honest weak calling
home hurts
useless moonlight lips
Month,
month,
month,
month,
Year,
year,
year,
year
Oh,
Miss doll lovely,
not waking,
haunting,
insane,
blackened,
cold
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 9:07 AM UTC
You called yourself a philosopher—but
The only depth you cared about
was intravenous.
*The boy who loved God too much,
he tried to find Him
in his head.*
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
It's a mystery to note
that despite how advanced in age we are
still we earnestly strive to survive, preserve
at all costs this physical entity
My sister, Vivien and I
watched vicariously
as our 91 year old Father
tubes plugged in every orifice and cavity
sat gripping the edge of his hospital bed
gasping for air
We didn't know it then, but he was suffering
a mild heart attack
mentally, tenderly we massaged
his Spirit with prayers
I thought to myself
how difficult it is to convince yourself
that you are not this body
while warm blood and passions rush
through veins and brick by brick
from birth we carefully construct,
insulate, protect, pamper and cater to
the whims and demands of this
terra firma
I stared numbly as hospital staff
wheeled Dad away for further tests
Emergency room visits were
fast becoming a regular ritual
Intravenous bags hang
heavy black nimbus clouds
stingily dispensing one last drop of mortality
my heart a stone sinking in my chest
plummeted with a thud into a bottomless
inky pool
so many poignant, familial memories
rowing merrily across the paper thin
surface of Life's fragile dream
I could sense my mother's intangible presence
close by
soft brown sepia eyes gazing tenderly
through the partially drawn diaphanous veils
chariots swinging low
father's condition is stable now
though they released him for the holidays
the appellation, "Comeback Charlie"
our nickname for his extraordinary
resilience and vigor
didn't have quite the same ring
something missing, that spark, stolen
reflected in hollow, vacant
jack-o-lantern eyes
I prayed as we prepared a tropical
fruit basket to cheer him up
that he would clearly see
an Angel not a thief
standing eternally by his side
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC
****** ****** in a dish.
How many needles do you wish?
Intravenous, Intravenous, take a hit and walk on Venus.
Unethical. Impeccable. Makes a brick wall wreckable.
You and me and Nikki Sixx,
Take those hypodermic sticks.
Shove 'em in and hold on tight,
'Cause this is gonna be a messed up night!
Turn your brains to sugar jam, now let's all walk to Junkieland.
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 1:34 PM UTC
He’s trick, like enrapturing
Wherein lies the paradox of his pantheism parapet’s paragon
Extraversion embezzlements and euthanasia extortions
Embark embargo extraditions
Diction’s enunciation echoes of opaque opulence
Its redolence a savory waft
The evolution of psychic clarity’s id conclusions
Bizarre dichotomous augur the singer’s aural austerity
Gypsy Queen, his guitar’s moniker, romanced aimed intention
Elaborate elliptical empathy endeavors for posterity’s predication
Pandemically phatic propriety venerations
Their apex crux axis beyond finite solution
Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma
Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix's vertex vortex
The individual must remain sacrosanct
Traipsing through the fallow furrows of assimilation’s synthetic synthesis
Like capillaries' capricious and intravenous intrepid
Incalculably sensual beyond emotion’s expression
Impetus intrigue's intuitional verve
Ethology’s entelechy, theosophy’s theophany
Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities
Futurity's corporeally preternatural fatidic
Elan-vital's apotropaic apotheosis
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
Slipping into consciousness
exploding with pain.
So much time spent, praying to this porcelain god.
Asking why
Begging for a break.
Those rare moments with the pain fades, and the absence feels like the strongest intravenous drug ever plunged into your veins
during those
late night ER visits that have become ever too familiar.
With sheets for walls.
And Judges for Doctors.
And cries from children echoing off white sanitized walls.
And you slipping out of consciousness
and into drug induced escape.
As the ceiling panels become beautiful,
and the scratchy sheets become cozy,
You breath a sigh of relief
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 8:42 PM UTC
this saline solution
that hides just behind the eyelids
=
an intravenous drip
when i’m off-colour
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
06.02.2013
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
What choices led to this?
I lost track in track marks
Lined arms and veins missed
Addiction happens quick
Cant live without my fix
Infatuation with intravenous bliss
But theres a constant fear of being sick
Restless legs peeling skin from dry lips
Why cant I just overdose and end it?
Better people than I didn't make it
I just can't seem to die my empty life ticks
Rolling back my eyes staring deep inside where I like to hide my bruises
If the good die young then I'm eternal as the sun rise
But I don't shine, my darkness is a blinding solar eclipse
The blood rushes in my syringe the plunger delivers me to the heavens
This feeling feels too good to overcome
I just accepted my life for what it was
Even if this feeling that I love
Makes me lose it
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 3:27 PM UTC
In the murky clots of consciousness
between sleep and awakening
we clung to an icy overpass railing
spitting down on graffiti camouflaged
train cars as their charging rickety
boom carried our uncontrollable laughter
toward destinations unknown
Our spirited tenacity was matched only by
turbulent winds whipping us into submission
Forcing us to brace ourselves to avoid getting
swept away
You tumbled backward off the slick rounded bars
of the overpass rail
and bit your lip so hard
I thought you would need stitches
but you kept on smiling as the blood plummeted
dripping all over the tracks in a sanguinary frost
Feeling arrogant and invincible
like two avante guarde dog soldiers
we marched past our old urban battlefields and
grimy fast food cattle fields
closed in on a ramshackle bar
and drowned our taboos and inhibitions in
foam drenched pitchers until we closed out that
ramshackle bar
We gleefully stumbled
wearing hazy street light halos
back to the
duplexed squalor of my doorstep
Sloppy kisses stained with the scent of
cheap beer completed the night
as we tore into each other and
made love on that ratty creaking mattress in the front
room
All I had at the time to rest on
was that ***** old bed
and you
until several months later
when they confined you to
pristine hospital beds instead
Intravenous deceptions and false hope blood tests followed
but even with all the motions of our modern medical drama
we couldn't avoid you getting slowly swept away
I regret never having the strength or honesty to visit you
just as I regret never telling anyone about you and I
I go hang on that overpass railing sometimes
remembering the knock-down-drag-out-reckless perfection
of that night
knowing that my agonizing love for you should
have been something I proudly proclaimed to the world
Now the trains carry away my atrocious wails
as the weight of my shame
nearly pulls me onto the tracks
and spills my insides in sacrificial testament
to all we've lost
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
Elder cocoons
Crysalis Hospice
Heaves pounding war drums
Fables of eternal bridge
Bingo and television
zombie horde lunch hour
Tennis ***** play race car
down halls tarred with lost children
Abandoned wither liver spot wrists
Silk wrinkles
Pull like neck folds lifted
newborn simba kittens
casted into this kingdom
scientists culture control
climate but not the yellow wall
It's too high for a fit cyborg
intravenous barbed wire
Cathader Penetrating
illusions of escapism
except the prison wealthy
classically conditioned
trading ice cream like cigarettes
trading blood diseases like ramen packets
There is no planned parenthood
in old folks homes
There is no distribution of free condoms
In a facility where they without medication
When you're about to win the lottery
His last day requested to bed Nurse Christine
Wheelchair ridden fumbling to open
A shaker of Mrs. DASH
I reach to help him open the spice.
Growling and Sadistic he festered:
"Let the little boy do what he can do."
I sat down in my chair.
he had his nurse ala mode.
no one will fund a ****** dispensary for old folks home.
they wouldn't use them.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 7:20 PM UTC
Walk with me into the universe
The chaotic mind of a ******
Speak with me as if I am your father
or mother
Take these pills, sip the syrup
Inhale, exhale
Tinted prose, purple and proud
Leaning with the lean fiends
Tumbled from a cloud, cotton mouthed
The aspirin works well, **** the pain
Again and again and again...
Fluidity and the fluoride fangs in your heart
Mind-control of the masses, missed me
Yet I feel amiss
Craving the release, intravenous peace
Smoke my peace, from my piece
Brown rock and the fire is ceased
Morning beckons, return to safety
These streets are no place for the sensitive soul
Handfuls of pills are gloves in the ring
The bell rings, another round
We're drinking now
Numb the pain, all around, the round
That sweet brown, bring it around
Sing it, the sound, hit the ground
and spun me around
Come down
Never come down
This flight is space bound.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
Sweet,
Sweet poison.
I long to feel you in my veins.
Burning petals take me to new heights
Where God himself can feel the flames.
Roots that take where others don't dare,
A direct line to this ever beating heart.
Coursing through my every limb,
Until our worlds collapse and part.
Aroma so sweet,
Who could resist,
The stinging pain that is your kiss?
Monster of dependence.
Queen of misery.
Piece by piece you took away
What once was known as 'Me'.
What initially swallowed away my pain
Has only brought me more.
A bandage left on far too long,
Will account for this festering sore.
I am a ghost,
A myst of being.
I'm there in body with no soul.
Slowly, yet steadily,
You suffocate life,
Until of what was, bares witness your toll.
"Indulge," you say.
"Taste of what I give.
Take me in with every ounce
Of gluttony,
Of desire,
Of sin."
So in excess I delved into your arms,
To hide from all my fears.
Little did I realize your mission
Of wasting precious years.
It wasn't until you finally killed me,
That I truly became awake.
At last rid of the serpent slithering.
The intravenous Eve of the snakes.
Alexander found his use for you,
Some many years ago.
Let us hope my mistakes,
My longing for love,
Keeps others from feeling your blow.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 6:16 PM UTC
Splashes among the splatter of hot water and shampoo.
A speck of the tear-free latter, lathered in thin grey flecks,
slips through
his receding hair.
Preceding their retreat into the air,
countless droplets of the former had waited
- heated, squeezed, and leaking through pipes,
bound together, flowing
causing groaning -
the pipes growing
then
briefly reigning over the dirt and sweat burrowed
in the furrows of his ever-increasing brow,
grey water falls from grace,
diving down into the drain.
It leaves behind a trace,
filling up the place with a cloud.
now
the curtain's flicked open,
I hear him step out, a towel drying
and his subtle sighing at the humidity,
or is it humility toward our conversation?
(I can never recall what we ever discussed, just that the door didn't keep us apart)
He reached for the handle
the door creaked open a crack
I looked up at the mirror
his crooked smile looking back
then
I caught sight of the sleight'd man
trapped in the glass
now
wiped clear by his hand
A fearful idea passed into my thoughts:
The image he's got of himself's slightly altered.
My words faltered watching his switched, stubbled chin
*His lips' starboard grin won't sit right with him,
and he's left unaware of just where his cleft crannies
though he's sure his reflection's his face, it's uncanny -
he is different to me -
the himself that he sees*
Asymmetry revealed to me
all he has known he has even been
is not the man his son has seen
until -
I averted my eyes, as he walked to his bedroom
heard the noise of TV as he watched
and he changed
behind closed doors
...later...
More doors close
distance grows between us,
though our intravenous love keeps us reaching
ever outward toward each other
teaching our open arms to also grow
create a closeness
while letting go
It is an indulgent weakness,
our shared blood is pumped
through slumped shrugging shoulders
the years make us older
/
the tears keep us young
as flexed muscles holding us together bulge
in a great show of strength
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 2:02 AM UTC
The pungent aroma of sandalwood is a poor diversion for the administration of intravenous ******
One may be spellbound by whispering seductions which can lull a person into a golden-brown complacency.
Overdose captivates the attention, and the reality of fantasy pervades the human heart in the same manner as an arrow from a crossbow which strikes the soul in Sherwood Forest.
It’s a texture like sun. But many are the afflicted under her psychoactive propagations. Now you truly know what it is all about. Or do you?
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC