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Wednesday, April 04, 2007

The feeling

The flesh of his arms buckled and withered
It appears to live it's own life
Underneath, the blood searing through the spidery blue veins
Swirling health to fingers and toes
Swirling fear, hope, pain, gain.
Temples throbbing
Paraesthesia pulses in his limbs
The feeling won't stop, can't stop
Falls to the floor, hands over his screaming ears
Screaming for help, for to be left alone

Posted by einsam at 9:03 PM
Categories: Poetry