people just are not good to each other one on one. - charles bukowski. (as i sit here proving the theory of karma to be total bullshit)

a drying contact slips from browned iris to pallored cheek
due to overflowing tears flooding it out
bit thumbnails bloody, exposed stinging underflesh
scratch at discolored spots distracting my face

promised i'd stop being the source of my wounds
so i open your medicine cabinet
inhale your ether chew your cyanide
ask you to
come a bit closer, infect me
i'll wear you like a rash
under covers of sheets and skin
or else clutch you close to my heart like a leech
ball up inside your salted shell like the slug i am

still i'll love you as my disease
and i'll burn any panacea they offer
to keep your deadliness pulsing inside my blood

it doesn't matter you're turning me lifeless
when with each painful passing paroxysm
i grow more and more alive
the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn

first stanza is too waffle-house-full of adjectives for my liking. its like half of it is chicken skin, takes me ages to get the meat. you're use of sonics in the middle stanza is great inthe fact that it almost makes me mouth spitting out and chucking up, though you lose a bit of form and I think you get carried away somewhat, you drift. Apostrophes in the final lines weakened your ending somewhat as well.
this could read beautifully as just the second stanza. it sounds like maybe the first stanza was an effort to gain footing, nice thoughts but kind of convoluted or excessive, and the third was filler for that ending punch. It's good, no doubt - it could be great with a little cutting of fat though
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist

e-married to
& alaskan_ninja