Showing posts with label heart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label heart. Show all posts

Saturday, 14 May 2016

Flake Off, Quagmire

Needles pierced through my skin 
Attached to the machine
Entering the layers perhaps 1/16" of an inch
At approximately 10-15 needle drops per second
Fast enough to avoid puncturing my skin 
And causing bleeding 
And yet slow enough to avoid tearing it
It bled and wept a little
But it was a uniquely personal experience

They often ask if it's sore; if the pain is unspeakable 
That somehow got me thinking once - no, a few times
That if I'd cut myself, will I bleed black?
Like the ink used for my tattoos
But I don't blame them for asking such a question 
Fooled by horror stories, they're bound to think that it's excruciating 
Often I'd like to tell them that my body can take almost anything 
A cut, a burn, 10 tattoos, and counting 

My body can withstand different amounts of pain
No need for drugs that can thin the blood
No need for skin-numbing creams
Because it is in the mind that I control the sensation 
It is my mental strength that I can always hinge upon

But no matter how strong my mind is
Sometimes my heart fails 
Every time it got fooled, played and hurt
Only time can tell how long I'd have to heal the pain
Unlike the healing process of my tattoos  
It was never quite manageable
An open wound still
I don't know how a healed heart feels like

But... Flake off, Quagmire

-PRK-

Tuesday, 16 September 2014

Somehow, Rather

It's slightly cold tonight
Rather too quite and the ice cube isn't dissolving tonight
Even this rum isn't calming the waves down tonight
No glasses clanking tonight

What's going to happen tomorrow?
Or will there be a tomorrow?
If not, can I borrow a tomorrow?
So I can narrate tonight's story tomorrow?

When it started yesterday
Like that was the last yesterday
When they really wanted to live yesterday
To know what they were meant to breathe for yesterday

As last week was warm
Last week was a little cosy
Though last week the cottage was swarmed
Last week the reverence itself was rather a posey

But this is now
This is where I empty a glass of rum
And then I'll take a bow
And craft a story of a rebel scum

-PRK-