A/N: This poem was written during a bad fever. As soon as the healers (*_*) left, I took out my emergency notebook from under its hiding place under the pillow...
Diatribe Against A Ring
Limbfiller, emptier
of all heart's warmth, you
are such a curse,
dragging me on, dragging me
down
toward that naked fire,
nestled at my flesh
like some dear-loved treasure.
My dreams are choking,
choking with your poison;
memories of home float
past me like cold strangers.
And sometimes, I hear
your laughter
seeping into me in shards
of flame, the mocking eye...
How I bleed, and fall,
and drawn by this promise
by doom itself.
And how
exquisite
you are, treacherous beauty.
How I ache to slip you
upon my finger,
how I ache to see you
melt back into your womb
of black heat,
never to whisper
in my head again.
*****
