Poet#27 "Pain"

Purposefully, painfully,
Pulling the relief off the predominant puncture.
Painting a picture of purple, as platelets
Prance on the patch of exposed skin.

Put some penicillin in my palm,
I'll pray as it preys on the predators
That pounce on, that poison my person
You should have popped some painkillers
Into that punch.

My pulse pounds down my presence,
I can feel it through the purple impression
Your pressurized fists inscribed into my flesh.
I prepare my pain receptors.
I know it was just practice,
As pain will probably prevail as
A primary part in my life.

Nothing can pause your purple palms
In their pregnant plunge at me.
No principles, no probabilities,
Nothing, until I can, of course,
Punch that same pain back to you.

The End

226 comments about this poem Feed