The Belief Of The Wick

Detached, unstipulated, under stimulated
With prejudice, I demand to be filled
Alas, without
Lust!
Lust, a prenatal configuration
Of two intolerable humans
Alas, without
Heed!
Heed not onto this wild act
Of one intolerable weakling
I would break like the thinnest of glass
While I re-puncture my wounds
Perhaps with that very glass shard
Broken
Old becoming new, never healing
My scabs flickering away
Like the belief of the wick

poem by Allie Edson
Added by Poetry Lover
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