Slam Poetry

The microphone stands tall
And when their words fly through it
They pierce my heart on the other side
       and I can feel crimson flow of feeling
       pouring from my wound
The cuts sting and my masochistic sensibilities
       ask for more
And when they provide I am hooked

Strung out, burnt out
Inject the needle of your words into my veins
       and leave me chilled and inspired
For an addict's write leaves them only wanting more
Trek the miles, just a taste
The snaps of fingers and murmurs from people
       who nod their heads and agree
Because they feel the stab of emotion
We are all a clan, a mass of misfits who
       are here to listen and inspire

And now it is my turn