A Poem

originally written: 2001-08-13 – 8:47 p.m.

i”m suicidal. i wont go into details. being depressed makes me artistic though..i wrote a poem.

THESE LOATHSOME HANDS

Its eyes gleam a nauscious shade of green, like its skin,

Blistered, and bleeding its jewel-like crimson hypnosis.

Its tongue, forked and twisting, perverting my resolutions with each motion.

It plucks a peach from the tree.

Soft, fur coated, morning dew speckles its surface, glinting in the pale light.

Reflecting those green eyes.

How i long…

I salivate.

My breath is harsh now, my pulse quickens.

The creature drags a claw across the fruit, watching me.

Securing the vision before me.

Locking my eyes.

The skin splits, so ripe and tender.

The juice pours fourth and runs down the claw of the beast,

Dropping to the ground in a temptuous pool.

Its inner flesh is brilliantly red-orange

I hold silent vigil as the monster draws a syringe

Arsenic.

Gingerly it injects the succulent pulp,

Hidious talons careful not to bruise the innocence,

The enchantment.

The husk bloats with poisen.

Still i yearn, imagening my teeth sinking…

Falling into heaven.

The horrid arm extends.

It offers me death.

I find my self wondering what life offers that i so need.

Oh, for just one bite…

To relieve the mediocrity of grain.

That tongue twitches.

I find my self reaching.

Yet it is in my hand before i touch it.

I forget i have not bitten.

Already i am full.

Yet starving.

I wrap my lips around my gift, i engulf it.

The flesh is gone and i am contemplating swallowing the stone.

Only now do i realize how little flavor was in this peach.

My mouth aches for the taste of grain.

I sink to the ground.

The creature takes me in its arms.

I spit in its face.

It strokes my cheek.

I die.

-Alana Norton”

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