Devoted exclusively to the creative process. Here you will see photojournaling, poetry, prose, an occasional review--journaling or philosophical writing can be found on our other blogs. This is our attempt to use our imaginations. Enjoy!

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Bullet



Cold, the chill creeps like a rat
into my hands, my feet,
slithering upward.
Bullet, you find your mark
all carved out for you.
I am your open wound,
uncautorized, bloody red meat.
You reach to grab that remnant chunk of heart.
Like chicken gizzards,
you fry it up,
feed it to your bottomless need.
And I fade and hover over myself,
waiting for the rescue
you cannot give.

5 comments:

piktor said...

Enemy, mighty dark screed. I have new posts at my blog.

RuKsaK said...

downright mean and cruel - a poem with menace in its heart - just how i like my writing served.

mack said...

hehe... I like this one.

Enemy of the Republic said...

Piktor,

I still plan on visiting my buddies while I take a break from Cruel Virgin.

Mack: Thanks, friend.

Ruksak: I appreciate the compliment. The muse of bloodletting has found me.

Cocaine Jesus said...

harsh as barbed wire and impossible not to be drawn in