Pins and Needles
I stand upside down on a bedof pins, their soulless selves
thirsting for the shrinking
spirit within me.
Sultry sirens slowly disrobe,
stopping the rhythm of my
fingers, my breath trapped
outside my chest.
Ice slips from my
non-grip, as my
unmoving eyes watch,
unable to help.
The ice drips, like all
else about me that is melting
away, never to return.
What is left are small
rocks in my cerebrum,
thoughts and words
imploding within.
White-robed muses
draw rouge from my
veins, leaving me with
the exquisite pain from
needles I once wielded.
Poetry by Arti
Read 1211 times
Written on 2007-01-14 at 15:32
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