I lay on the soothing, cool tiles,
Feeling the searing burn of the fever.
You sit beside me,
Yet I do not notice you.
Pain is all I see, hear and taste.
I black out the neon glow of your perilous smile,
So that I may dwell in complete darkness,
although I never want to push you away.
My head throbs,
Like the pounding beat of a drum.
My chest heaves,
Like the seizure of a dying buck's last moments.
I am death.
I am pain.
The total momentum of impurity,
Dispelled by the pure agony that makes me who I am.
The Reaper must have me in his grip,
For with you at my side,
I surely must be in heaven.
A contest entry
- What Can You Do With These? Eh? by Kylaya Halon.
450 points, ended November 8, 2008, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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