PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Reality pinpricks across the surface;

The dance of the narrow needle.

Everything’s illegal, so we end up selling parts of our own bodies,

We were running free, but somehow got lost in the underground,

So much sympathy for our demons,

Crying gasoline tears in the heat of summer’s tease.

An ocean washes up pebbles and bones,

Victims of discrimination, beaten and stoned.

Preservation burns when trapped in the hold,

In the mind of a stranger, struggling to be free,

Resisting all instinct that is explosive within.

Submitting to the charm and seduction of fate,

Though I’ll never forget who I was,

I’ve collided with the man I want to be.