Your Diagnosis Means Nothing To Me

eyedclaar

Your Diagnosis Means Nothing To Me

I am cold
Amber eyes above
Frosted breath
Waiting like decay
For a movement
Amongst the willows
The surge of muscle fiber
And reflex
A taste of warm copper
Laced triumph

I am hot tar
Boiling beneath
Hollow grins
And trigger fingers
Tracing red paint
Around black holes

I am the asbestos fiber
Clogging lungs
With inescapable sentencing

I am a welcome
And uninvited guest
In this house
Listening
For a familiar voice
To release some version
Back into the wild

mysticweed

Heavy shit, there.
Excellent, heavy shit

eyedclaar

lettinggo wrote:

Heavy shit, there.
Excellent, heavy shit

Thanks!

the wolf

very cool !

death lurking?


I dig it.

eyedclaar

the wolf wrote:

very cool !

death lurking?


I dig it.

I'm always curious what people get out of my stuff, but you are right on with what I intended. Also, in my mind, it is almost spitting in death's face because energy can't be killed; it can only change form.

At the risk of explaining too much...

mikalina

I like this one, especailly the "last" paragraph of your poem. Thank you,

mysticweed

eyedclaar wrote:

the wolf wrote:

very cool !

death lurking?


I dig it.

I'm always curious what people get out of my stuff, but you are right on with what I intended. Also, in my mind, it is almost spitting in death's face because energy can't be killed; it can only change form.

At the risk of explaining too much...

yeah, no shit - energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it merely changes form. The universe began with a finite amount of energy which has changed forms for billions of years with some of it finding itself knee deep in chalk outlines!