contours.

The dull ache pulsates in my rib
growing with sensate reminiscence
of a time when disillusion washed over
like chlorine on my mind,
and he was incomprehensibly perfect;
of a time when he loomed over me
like a storm, with lightning fists
and thunder words.

he was the twister of reality
a king of deceit,
his nectarine heart was in fact,
rotting with unsoot decay under the mask of red.
and i was his jester,
the fool who was forever enterprising
to his oppressive wants,
because i was afraid of execution.

my ribs will tighten
on days like these
and unlash the cold onrush of fury
down my spine
where these memories
coloured in fear,
will surge through
the silkness of my body,
over wounds that have healed
in grandevous manner.

but i have learnt that running will only
aggravate the pain,
so i stop and face it,
until the ache drops to a deadbeat
and coil inwards
into the core of my soul
where chains are plenty
and all is for keeps.

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written for the Ten Random Words poetry comp. In the competition I left out the word "silkness". I have added it for this submission.