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Intravenous
by V. Blakemy blood should crawl
like a black-eyed beggar
away from the pen
that injects these words;
my bones should quake
with a wise man's rage
beneath each tendon
that bids them write;
and my soul should shriek
as a child scorned
for taking these toxins
into its veins.
but instead, they slip
into self-induced comas
of chemical bliss
and drift... 01/05/2010 Author's Note: Poemuary Entry #5.
Posted on 01/05/2010
Copyright © 2026 V. Blake
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Nanette Bellman on 01/06/10 at 04:25 AM Who needs Requiem for a Dream when you've got this little ditty. excellent work. |
| Posted by Michael Smith on 01/06/10 at 04:58 AM ...and you needn't go to rehab! |
| Posted by Olivia Martin on 01/06/10 at 11:54 AM Well, I must say, Vince, this "drug" works good for you. I especially love the lines: "my blood should crawl/like a black-eyed beggar/away from the pen/that injects these words;" - very poignant beginning that carries the reader from beginning to end. Wonderful write, and please, if you find you have any extra potion, feel free to share - it obviously does amazing things! ;) |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 01/06/10 at 01:34 PM Good wwrite Vince and sometimes writing can be its own drug. |
| Posted by Anita Mac on 01/06/10 at 05:55 PM This leaves me itching... The lines are like a heavy bassline that I can't get out of my head. |
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