how bitter the fruits of conquests in love
my bleeding, bludgeoned heart now numb and stricken down
the caverns of my mind reveal etchings of the guttural scream
silence betrays the unstill nature coursing through my soul
follow the scarlet droplets...
hope, now dashed upon the rocks like a rabbit readied for the stew
less mercy shown in the light of all darkened veins of pulsed trials
desperation companions too frequently
perhaps I should just play dead, maybe this shall all pass me by
droplets lead to crimson pools.....
beware the beast that hath no heart, the tides swell forth in fury
constant eagerness, hope floats the fool
drown now in your own river of red
gasp for breath, the taste of iron the last you know
pools, made by the undead heart within my chest
upon my sleeve
around my neck
uncaged, the feral heart runs rampant with emotional trivialities
behind walls, a wild heart withers as an orchid in the desert
unloved......my heart has known that most of all
my conquests may be over, though my journey never through
tell me later why, I will need a point of reference again
if all else fails........I am used to it anyway......
dust me off, the blood sticks too closely
at least it used too
not anymore.
-J.G.Smith (09/05/05)
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