Swelling
The beating and pumping of vitality,
Floats down the protrusion of acceptance and validity,
And your consciousness slithers out of my hand.
Rather than soaring among the vapors,
You pool in the soil and muddle innocence,
Dripping and swirling in melted mercy,
You cloud conclusions and rid my body of clarity.
Plumes and tornados of guilty dust,
Infect my young lungs,
And corrupt the mind of the feeble,
And that pounding in your vacant chest,
Falls to a flutter,
Descends—
Stops.
And I will sob until you wake up.
Copyright © Gabrielle Wolcott | Year Posted 2011
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