Patterns on My Bedsheet


The thigh
Golden-brown, almost toasted
To the soundless music wrought within
The endless tussle on the end of a muzzle
Pleasure and pain. Pleasure and pain.
Victory was ensured by a sorrow
That called my name. It called my name
I turned cold feet in a warm bed
And turned insane. I turned insane

The rise
Of a moist touch, its love abated
To a narrow frequency heard in the dark
A moment stolen from daylight’s hectic teeth
But it all lies wasted. It all lies wasted.
I smelt fragrance from so far away
I was captivated. So captivated.
But it turned and bit my head right off
And so I had to fake it. I had to fake it.

The hair
Crisp, light; crunchy under the crush
Held in large hands they were untasted
A swollen heavy breath on another day
Today grew tainted. It grew so tainted
Pressed closer, searching for an eternal truth
I turned away hated. I turned away hated
He swore it wasn’t just another day
But his tongue was jaded. His tongue was jaded.

A fear
Aglow in the middle of the day
These patterns replay in full swing today
I stare in horror at the mess I create
But the past lies naked. It just lies naked.
Strangers one second, lovers the next
My soul can’t take it. It just can’t take it.
Which is why I hold this in my chest
The bedsheet- I stained it. I only stained it.

This poem is a powerful one for me; it contains elements of imagination, experience and raw emotion mixed together. I can’t believe I wrote it at one am at the end of a really busy day. I don’t want to lose touch with the writer in me. Which is why I need to prove to myself; over and over again that I am capable of staying in touch with my emotions. This poem is full of vulnerabilities. It reflects the patterns of relationships. I’d like to think there is a little bit of everything in it.

The question I am wondering is: Am I losing my voice? It changes so often, it becomes so many different things. How real is it? And when will it start to hurt me, having a blog like this, out here?


2 thoughts on “Patterns on My Bedsheet

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