Posted by Olsen Potter in

Solitude

The dark
gathering, biding, lurking
waiting for a time to get me
get me all alone.

The vision I keep having
of myself attacking
those I love, those I treasure
and even my own self.

The fingers I keep losing
the blood I keep tasting
arising in the morning
a taste of steel rest in my memory.

Can you feel it?
the hot blood streaming down your body?
feel it cool, it congeal,
leaving traces of desperate wanting.

Stab in the heart, why aren't I dead?
The pain, like an ember,
sizzles and sears my soul
Again I ask, Why aren't I dead?!

-Olsen w. Potter-

This entry was posted on Saturday, November 05, 2005 at 5:08 AM and is filed under . You can follow any responses to this entry through the comments feed .

3 comments

Violent and sinister.

Extremely dynamic description of blood, its color, temperature, taste and texture.

"leaving traces of desperate wanting" is a very moving and guttural line.

The expressions of pain in the poem are incredibly abrasive.

11/08/2005 12:51 PM

si` si`

i'm speechless and out of adjectives!

11/10/2005 8:15 AM
sandrinha  

Não gosto de seus poemas assim, se eles refletem o que vc sente. Se refletem a loucura que passa em sua mente. Mas...se é para vc desabafar através deles, então escreva-os.
Amo tua mente e teu corpo, Lance. Tua loucura e tua sanidade. Só preciso de vc comigo.
Quero vc na minha vida, ainda que me cause dor.
TE amo.

11/14/2005 7:57 PM

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