My Thirsty Hand

I evaporated when you told me.

You met someone.

Propelling blood through my heart like a cannon.

I'm left with a misalignment of your autonomy.

I restrain my retort,

it's smoky truth scarring my throat.

I must quench my thirsty hand,

prose as a poisonous sip,

ink as proxy for blood.

Only my toes grasp the edge of your consciousness.

I am suddenly alive. 

Translucent. Liberated.

Exertive.

Your response is unimportant, 

I've unleashed my inhibition.

Flashed a torch at my fangs.

There is nothing left to digest.

You were not equal to match me.

Reviews

[George Anthony]

Such an amazing poem with brilliant wording, and still captures perfectly the stages of rejection and to overcoming it. I love it.

[...]

"I restrain my retort,
it's smoky truth scarring my throat.
I must quench my thirsty hand,
prose as a poisonous sip,
ink as proxy for blood.

Only my toes grasp the edge of your consciousness."

. sheer genius ! ... the entire post ... but especially the lines above ...