Fog outside the window,
burying me deep within.
Open arms see you,
can't touch you,
or welcome you in.
I crack open my heart,
gears forced to turn.
Dirt on my face,
shows more than a trace,
like lust or smooth lace.
Blood on the floor,
I do adore.
Memories turn,
mind in a spin.
I wander the hall,
I stumble, I fall.
This wild ride,
I once enjoyed,
leads me down
a path of dark bore.
Clock ticks away time,
my heart still yearns,
I feel its burn.
To have you near,
I taste no fear.
I close my eyes,
feeling pain no more,
for it is you I adore.
I dream of love,
deep and pure.
I own it, want it,
hold it close.
Time passes,
pleasure and pain twist.
Tonight, I think of no one.
Allowing sleep to drift in.
pleasure and pain do tend to twist...really an interesting piece...and sometimes it is good when you can clear your mind, to get some sleep...what an intriguing twist of emotion in this...but true gwen.
ReplyDeleteDream of love, write about love, fall in love again, Gwen. You inspire me this morning.
ReplyDeleteyes, i love the way this turns on itself at the end... wonderful!
ReplyDeleteThis reads fast...quick the way a mind might fighting sleep and yearning for someone, something unattainable. Very effective.
ReplyDeleteLovely write Gwen. The sounds the textures the word ryhthmic -- a super read. --our fatal love
ReplyDeleteI like how this went in a direction I wasn't expecting. And loved the lines,
ReplyDeleteI crack open my heart,
gears forced to turn.
So much is said right there... I could really feel your angst... well done.
Oh, it's never just one thing, a straight line is it? I particularly like S3, "Dirt on my face, shows more than a trace, like lust or smooth lace." Good one.
ReplyDeleteInteresting piece - things do twist and turn - you say it well
ReplyDeletethis one does twist... the "blood on the floor" lines took me a little aback-- i like that in a poem! :)
ReplyDelete