nyghtwish

Modification
I fill my lungs with air and
a slight rasp. On the exhale
I focus on this wheeze, the expulsion
of survival. Your gun
purrs to life, a sound familiar
and terrifying every time.
It still drips with ink.

The pain begins with half moon
pits gouged into my sticky wet palms;
with twisted muscles and jaw distorted,
the anticipation hurts more.

Exhale again, remembering your advice,
the drills drone beating
at reluctant ear drums; we begin.
It stings at first, etching in skin
pulled taut between your fingers.

Fireworks of black and blue through
lightly drawn lids, hands tucked under
my knees. Trying to hold steady
as finally the surge of adrenaline,
morphine drip, fills my aching threads.

You disappear. With the hum
and the smarting wound, acknowledgement
that Im still alive. Everything is
clear, if only for an instant
and I am reborn.

They may never understand
this personal pleasure from
your guided torture. It is a process,
a single moment of lucidity,
more than the result alone.

Climax, then denouement and
all that is left is a welting reminder
of my strength. I feel
accomplished in my slight contribution
to your ancient art.

*********************************
I wrote this poem for the literary magazine. I hope it doesn't suck.

On that note, I posted some pictures of the boy I have a crush on. Don't laugh at me, I know he's ridiculously pretty. But oh so talented *swoon* The pics are in my "random" folder.