Pulse of Breathing
Enter the velvet, black round room
where neon teeth are blinding bone
and whispers from limp spider webs
are drowned by the pulse of breathing
Windows melted a along time ago
trap the boarded up beats, and the aqua flow
of the shadowed strobe lights - here they go
spinning lunatic top
There's a one way only revolving door
with scuff marks in leather from ceiling to floor
and cots to sink into when you can dance no more
slip perspiration coma
Crunch up the moments like broken glass
and swallow the mood which will surely pass
Only the pulsing will last and last
when your eyes beat back stiff dreams
Exit the velvet, black round room
by the way of your memory of life before
you know what it's like to stir up your blood
and be drowned by the pulse of breathing...
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2005
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