Blind to Drowning/Poetic Prose

Blind to Drowning
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Autophobia meandered through me as filiform and branded the soft tissue that once felt blood pulse.  Sound pounded through corridors and eardrums; swished melody like ocean crash on rocky shore.  No heart beat quietly in the onslaught of my storm; my mel filtered mid the harvest of roses - tossed, passed and carried, vis-a-vis.

Continuity remained a silent pull, consistent with its tick; a reminder of time and leverage.  It was here that I realized my recurrent theme, and whirled my abstract puzzlement into a self inflicted tempest, ravaging my narcissistic self to earn a rung on love's ladder.  I bled me into winter snow and turquoise ocean.

Red lingered with its mellow ache, tenderized fresh culled limbs filled with embraceable hollow hunters, and I needed more to fill the empty space, to meet quotas that expounded beyond the price of pleasure.

And need clung within the aftermath, found each crevice, and tickled for more.

I knew what pain I could not live with and I demanded the pain I could not live without.  It beckoned me like master to slave, welcomed command of expressed gratification, consumed guttatim - sanctified satisfaction with the excited indulgence of such performance.

Thirst quenched, I tossed care madly to the night sky and mined stars to light my heart again.  And with each tender gleam, my world swam within such freedom, blind to any course of drowning that might come.








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Poetic Prose