Dropping Acid With...

Dropping Acid With Sylvia Plath

Words and pictures crawling underneath skin.

I scratch my palms—soothing the aching burn.

I dream of shedding my clouded mind—

Feeling your pulsing heart on my tongue—

I cut it out and it pours on the floor.

I don’t know who I am or where I’m from.

Where the cumulation of words comes from—

Until it raws—frets at porcelain skin.

In withdrawal my brain writhes the floor

And forces out screams that are burning

Words—I flicker along my mouth my tongue

To devour or speak—can’t make up the mind.

A thousand times I could have changed your mind

About the direction the words come from.

I smooth them inside my cheek, tonguing

In poems—I feel heat touch your skin.

From fingertips sparks ricochet and burn—

Igniting ceilings, walls, unstable floors.

There is no glass ceiling. There is no floor—

No limits—etched and bled within a mind.

Decaying cerebrum slowly burns

Syllables’ combustion engines from

Sensory nerves transportation through skin—

Tasting feelings on its slippery tongues.

I see the walls of words inside your tongue.

Somehow we end horizontally—floor

Fractioning surfaces of our skins

Mine ruptures—vessels break—I don’t mind;

I delight in ecstasy given from

The pain of scraping knees—endless slow burn.

Deep inside my belly a poem burns—

Raging forth and setting down on my tongue

It burst; for split seconds I’m free—from

Emaciating feelings I’m. Floors

Spring up inside my elevator mind

And dance through the night on poem’s soft skin

One day I’ll be far from pain that burns—

The world’s rough skin against my opaque tongue—

And floors of glass will become my mind.

By Melissa Lemay

From: United States

Website: https://melissalemay.wordpress.com