Deflated and Drained as if by Undead Fangs

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

My blood not red now flows like white streams through

My veins, my arteries, capillaries

And heart.  I do not have a heart to sue

For love since where it was the god Ares

Has hacked it out.  The goddess Venus knows

She cannot help and so instead she fills

The tubes with skimmed milk, cold.  This thin milk flows

Around inside my spirit’s soul and spills

Inside my guts where you, you, you once pumped.

My ribs think maybe emptiness would be

Much better.  If the tasteless milk were dumped

On roots of trees, at last I might be free.

  If I were free of you at last, I might

    Be better.  But my life feels much like spite.

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