Don't kill the messenger.

This was my first poem. Fictional Romance.

Turn the ignition on, and turn our turbines
to kingdom come.
Psychosis washes over our lavish dreams, toxins
we let run wild.
Existence lines the stomach of our personas, as we
walk through the threshold of our beliefs, corrupted
with BOLD printing.
Vibrations of our emotions quiver on that screen, you
inhale in italic.
Ideological viruses bleed us dry, dehydrated, I send the
underscore.
A knot is tied and lit aflame with instant wave-lengths
reverberating.
Calloused fingers quake, as our batteries recede into a
binary coma.
F**k, the ignition is burnt out, I'll run, I'll prove to you
I'm worth the goddamn wait.
Lactic acids devour me, but your irises keep pushing me
like kinetic force.
My route, like an artery pumped full of neon, luminates
the rationale.
Hinges squeal under the urgency, all that's left is
our little electronic catalyst.

Author's Note

Eh, stick me with what you've got.

Reviews

[Jessica M.]

"Existence lines the stomach of our personas, as we
walk through the threshold of our beliefs, corrupted
with BOLD printing."

definitely stopped and made me think,
there are some amazing ideas in here.
But may I ask what the message is?
Is it that we spend too much time on little trivial details such as italics?

[Wildecat]

A sensational write, a definite pleasure to read your poetry.

[Chuck]

I just want to keep reading this, and I keep finding new things I like about it. This is fantastic, keep writing!
-Chuck