Little line

What it's like to injure ones self.

All too unreal
and perfectly stable in chaos
this little red line
separates soul from body

Shaking hands
1...
2...
no tears
just a match
a flame
and a spark of life

Let it all go
the spine tingles
toes curl
and it's better than sex
until it fades

The air cleanses
cold and biting
as it starts
one more time

Author's Note

Note to self: No more writing when pissed, high, or any combination there of.

Reviews

[ganymeder]

I really liked this poem.

I thought the little red line was cutting yourself, but then you mentioned the match and flame? That part reminded me of drugs. Were you talking about two different things?

I really got a feel for your melancholy. Sad but lovely.