Toxic Inspiration

Blurred vision, tingling ears, impaired decisions
All pointed to the known fact:
the toxin was mixed within her blood.

Complicated dilemmas now made sense
as she could see the world as it is
She could even solve greatest enigmas
if she truly put her mind to it.

She noticed her growing famine,
her inevitable need for couple fingers
stroking her hair, touching her cheeks
followed by a kiss to her forehead
by a pair of clement and loving lips.

A warm wave swept her torrid body
A writhing ache residing in her stomach
sank between her ravenous legs,
her bladder filled up with noxious fluids
made pressure aggravating her craving
She asked herself again and again
How much did she want to dance?

She did not have the full control
not over her actions,
not over her desires
She was afraid of that wicked cell phone,
which was calling her to reach and regret
but she had a wish for a coming day
that she did not spend a minute near hell
nor in interrogation, nor in infliction.

That’s how she started typing
she believed she might be controlling
her yearnings by symbolizing, by confessing.
That’s how she started typing
to put a leash on her aspirations
and to make use of her demanding toxins.

Now the poem seems to be over
what’s next?
What will protect
her from entering the torment?
Needless to say:
Law and order with boiled chestnuts!

Beril
06/01/10