Beating
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Beating, pulsing, Writhing, flowering, Gushing forth, In time with their feet. Hit, hit, hit, Ts, ts, ts. Hit, hit, hit, Ts, ts, ts. My feet longing, Restlessly twitching, Remembering when The cadence will start. The quad rolls, My eyes close. The bass drum and My heart pound. Bleeding, flowering, Pulsing, writhing, My wrists in water, Concoction of oils. Embalm me, dear oils! Do not let me waste! Still my poor heart, Catch these weak tears. A rose-scented bath Turning so red, Red as the ties ‘Bout the Guard’s necks.

Submitted on 2006-02-24 17:21:28     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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