The Blister

~ The Blister ~

 

 

I gave you my life,

Which gently you scalded,

One eventful eve,

When I disengaged myself from your,

Tender kiss,

Feeling their hidden brutality.

Our fruit was shorn from its vine,

And was no longer sweet . . .

 

Not your fruit any longer,

But a blister, you might call me,

Because I tremble at the passion,

Of that one night as though I,

Was shaking upon a stove,

Flaked away from your finger.

 

A blister,

Hot to the touch,

Crying out as everyone ignores my plight,

While I shudder . . .

Along the edge.

 

I gave you my life,

And you ignored my gift,

Tore me into pieces . . .

‘Just like a blister.’

 

And, if only one nightmare,

Was all I could see,

Out of our past,

Then my lids would crack-

Because,

 Even through our full window of memories,

I see a single time,

In our life,

Which you no doubt remember . . .

 

After that time,

All the memories are fluent,

As a silky, twining river,

An undaunted, beautified gleaming sheen,

That trickled along a path-

Of pure hope and destiny.

 

But right now,

I can only see that thought,

Which crossed me gently at first,

Like a mellow wave, sweet to touch,

And then became-

Just recently, just of late,

A rushing, spiraling storm,

Rage that crashed down over me,

In a boiling heat.

 

I was a blister, was scalded,

A time in your head,

That was all I was-

A stake, a comforting heat,

Living in your brain,

Living as a moment-

An aphrodisiac-

And I failed,

Fell in an arc over the clash,

Of roaring, cantankerous water,

That swept over us.

 

I disengaged myself from the flow,

While you stood there, watching,

Your head slightly cocked, eyes squinting-

As though you had never-

Seen anything before, of the like . . .

 

Why you hadn’t I’ll never know.

For how could I be just a piece,

A black knight felled from your game,

From your flow,

Of undying sweet innuendos,

While,

I just stand and watch you stare,

Baffled by the. . .

Picture that you made.

 

You caught me and placed me,

Into your heat-

I was caught,

Like a gnat there . . .

And all you could say,

While you stood there,

Was,

 ‘Why won’t you play?’