Below is the poem entitled eight which was written by poet
Tate. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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I often question if I can feel the ecstasy I used to know,
that old familiar rush that seeps through my skin.
Do I have to swallow those little numbers
(one through eight)
to make myself whole?
Only then do I fail to differentiate the warmth of my skin from the atmosphere.
And my heart pounds like a change in gravity.
My skin starts to inhale and a tidal wave crashes into my senses-
I’m disoriented and dazed and fulfilled momentarily,
so I’m lost in a cycle,
counting by eights.