You're A Pinhead.

I am a desert cactus,
kept on a windowsill,
in a windy, heartbroken city
in the North.
And the window is always open.
While my spiney back craves the
dry, consuming heat of summer,
I am made to suffocate
in this drowning, crushing, silencing
snow.

I dream of daylight.

The images kept inside my spiky head
sustain me
until the Earth turns,
and summer returns,
a few months of humid semi-bliss.
I fill so full of water and melted snow,
that had I eyes, I would weep.
Rather, my soil seeps
and smells of maggots and rot.
When the freeze comes again,
I feel crystals on my roots
and a threatening, speaking
crack in my pot
that says,
"Give up, they will not come to collect you,
when you finally whither and die."
And my flesh grows sallow
my spines extend---
--and never, never do I bloom. 

Reviews

[Pixie Meat]

I really like this. Kind of reminds me of the writing style of Kurt Cobain, how it's almost disjointed and yet still poetic in its visceral imagery (smell of maggots and rot), ect. For some reason, I especially liked how you described the head as spikey...that just gave me this really clearly defined image. Very nice work!

[melissa]

nice work:)

[caliban]

awesome.

[perfectlymetiKulous]

This was absolutely brilliant.
I can offer no other words.

Certainly not what I expected after reading the title. That was what really drew me in at first. I like this, though I'm no poet so there's not a lot I can say to help you improve your writing. Keep writing, and continue with your personal style.