journal · poetry

Catharsis

You’re a walking contradiction
a daring dereliction
a twisted, sick addiction
deep within my raving shell.
You see, I’ve got your lucky number
your wicked, liquid love
your libelous sensations
pulsing down into my veins –
when I slide the needle in I get so
high
high
high
I fly farther than a kite,
and I feel lighter than the sky
but the atmosphere’s
too cold up here
and so I
die
die
die.
You’re killing all my feeling
you’re sending me straight reeling
into the boundless, gaping hole
that I’ve been trying to evade
and I’d managed for a decade,
almost two,
until the day I set foot running
headlong into you.
It’s like I swam across an ocean and I
dived
dived
dived
straight into the arms
of love’s
blind eyes
and
demise.
Oh, I am sick
and I must be
some kind of frenzied lunatic
because even with
this fucked up shit
I’m not quite ready to quit it.
And I have lost the metric
another reason to the rhyme
but another fucking poem
will not be saving grace this time.
So I venture ever onward
and I
climb
climb
climb
looking for the peace
that’s been a lie I’ve been denied.
I have fought and I have tried
and I will bleed and I will sigh
and keep on feeding this obsession
this corrupted, lewd infection
this virulent emotion
until the end is nigh…
and so am I.
Catharsis. High.

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