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Breaking Good
July 13, 2009
Electric circuits spin
haywire. Fatal connections
that are our delicate
relations break grounds,
and we must step
softly lest we are caught.
His lips on my neck
leave a trail
of hot sweet smoke,
fumes from vows
perforated. My skin tingles
with downsized explosions.
Static lines shock my
viscera, turning violently
Painted lips red flushed like
my cheeks, black cherries
ripened. My glare
feels more acerbic
ringed with raccoon oil
black, dark as my corrupted heart.
And I feel poisonous,
oh so venomous when my touch
becomes oh so
fatal.
© Anna H., Buckeye, AZ
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inspired by the conflicting feelings of wanting to change and knowing it's safer to stay the same