"Oh, how sweet!" my mouth wants to say
gulping down sugar on my final day.
The taste is exquisite; my tongue has to twitch.
I moan my approval in a deep, throaty pitch.
I lie on my back, soaking it in
like Honey on bread, yet sharp like a pin.
Tasting the sorrow, absorbing the strife,
swallowing needles that reflected my life.
I hold in my cries, refusing to yell,
not letting my pleasure-screams bring you, my Hell.
I take in my anger, embrace all my pain,
release all my hatred, inhale it again.
Don't rush in and "save" me; I'm begging you, no.
I enjoy this torture; it's my friend, not a foe.
Please let me bask in this celestial last flood
of my favorite dessert: my dying self's blood.
Author notes
I've got an original version in my pocket, but this is the one I decided to post... It's only been edited slightly, but still enough to make it noticeably different than the orignal.
I know my diction needs a little fixing. Any suggestions?
Comments
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Extasy
"I hold in my cries, refusing to yell,
not letting my pleasure-screams bring you, my Hell."
You make it sounds as if you are a threshold away from your mortal salvation, yet they are also the cause of your pain.
The last line sounded like a last meal for a convicted criminal and how much they are expected to enjoy and savor it.
But I must say, my own blood is rather foul-tasting. I am glad you enjoy yours.
Masochism is interesting to read about, yet it deeply saddens me that some people are actually put into situations where they would rather die than not.
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awesome
This is wicked... it rocks. I love the contrast that the title brings all by itself.
Well done, Kj
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wow!
this had such beautiful imagery!
the rhyming is down to an art and you express your emotion so eleiquently it sweeps me off my feet!!
great write!!!
Plastic
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