White Knuckles

*entry for the "get it all out" competition*


~


Every string that wove
me -
every little
knot -
is pulsing
in a pattern -
healthy,
hungry,
filthy,
hot -

the cells in me that think
themselves
so worthy of the
word -
the me, the I; we beg and
rhyme
and
grope
you
through
the
earth.

No want can
change
the miles that
shove
themselves between us
two -
I'd scream to make the sky
shake -
there is
nothing
I can
do -

Every thing that made
me -
lifeless skin that somehow
beats -
I'm cold, exhaling
winter
and I
cannot
feel
your
heat.


~
Age when written: 16