Young Writers Society

out of neuralgia's dark hotness
(sweating and retching),
darling i demur all night,
except at your contigent contours.
i smoulder and smudge tears into blood.

were your soporific stories only told
to ease my reddening pain and soothe my throat?
it worked one out of a hundred times.
(wincing and flinching).
a life sprawled against a story is insipid.

so i conclude my delirium is not
disorder of mind,
but order.
no feverish, violent illness,
but prosaic, gentle health.

perfectly timed lacy films of cold sweat
streak my skin at night's proportioned intervals.
salty tears make sugary blood to smear
along every wall but yours.
words of denial don't slay a thing.
written: Saturday 12th February 2005, 10:51pm.

Frankly, there are lots of words in there that I don't know the definition of. So, as of yet, I can't really grasp your point. However, I really, really, really like the last line: "words of denial don't slay a thing". This is so very true and I like the way you worded it.

beautifully dark. your imagery is excellent.