This Sickness That's In Me

When I'm washed up with those feelings of loneliness
and when there is only this and we can't resist
the bliss of when we kiss but it only exists
when our eyes are trapped in the mist.
It's a twist of love and reminisce,
like the hiss in the midst of the abyss
that fell apart and went amiss.
while you were pissed
and I dawdled a knife to my wrist
while you were missed
the list of things that persist
tended to assist the clenching of my fist

and all the while time added to this rhyme
I quietly watched the girl that would reawaken my heart
waiting for her to be mine.

by Moth Harris

Other poems of HARRIS (193)

Comments (2)

Had to give this one a ten. There's just something about a poet rageing words onto a blank page that appeals to me. Very Dionysian.
Had to give this one a ten. There's just something about a poet rageing words onto a blank page that appeals to me. Very Dionysian.