I still feel the pain
of butterfly wings
being plucked (one by one);
unbearable;
yet I yearned to suckle
the sweet nectar
that poisoned me.
The ceiling wax
almost smothered me,
but finally primal instincts
took hold
and I fell
into unknown places,
where I still slip
over shoelaces of naivety.
Hollow songs
ring within my psyche
in blacks and whites.
It was all supposed to be
like climbing a rainbow,
but I am still sliding back
into a black hole
of no feeling.
But, dammit,
I do feel,
I do remember the agony;
will I always feel like
a tightrope walker?
Author notes
Option #2 - Nowhere near as good as yours but I tried and this was my response. Hope it's okay!
Acid Emotions With Painted Wings
I can smell the tears you gave birth to,
throbbing with every jolt of sensation.
I tasted the liquid dreams inside of jars.
Mysteries were unsolved, and I stood proudly.
Bathing in crisp apple smell, groaning.
Stop. It's done. Let me go.
Licking away at dripping wax from crystal candles,
letting the flame dissolve into thick smokey air.
I raised my ax, slammed it down, cut the sea of blood in half.
Toenails chipped at noose ends, bugs digging inside.
I felt one crawling around my funny bone today.
Funny thing is, I didn't laugh.
Grim whispers, I felt the end coming.
I let the secrets spill onto emotionless text.
I could hear a butterfly's wing rip a thousand miles away.
Shredded into a multicolored vision.
Prunned and elastic, I shaved off my skin.
It wasn't the same, it was scarlet and pale.
Pretty colors make the world go round.
By M a r l u x i a (2003)
In a list
A contest entry
- Five Years at Allpoetry~ by N e a r.
1400 points, ended May 8, 2008, 10 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Wow... I am blown away by this write! Such images you painted in my mind!
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I think this is puuurrfect.
I love your response~ JUST what I was looking for with option #2! Thank you for your entry. Nicely captured.. the emotions suit well.
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Some really great emotions, here. Your images perfectly reflect each new, horrible feeling. Poor butterfly. You have painted such a veritable picture of naivete crushed, or reality screaming. Very well done!
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