Young Writers Society

groggy blood wanders sleepily in my veins,
hauling its great load and never safe
from the papery, flimsy film of my white skin.
it is hardly immortal; rather weak and
defenceless if you look at the way
my stringy blue veins are so clear beneath the
sheer paleness of skin layers;
vulnerable blueness quite like the unprotected
gentle blue of the daytime sky.

pulse shudders, drumming rhythmically, so firm and rigorous
like the electric rays of the sun which clutched the world today.
my pulse flings itself out at the skin of my neck,
exploding from the inside, and beating,
ever-beating, energetic and never tiresome,
unlike the night tonight, how it
sighs wearily, sick of the monotony, the plethora of days.
vibrating throb on my wrist breathes, "life, life, life."

deep red heartbeat pumps crisply inside my chest,
pounding and writhing more musically than my pulse,
altering tone, pace, pitch with every new season's breath.
it is the epicentre of all, my heart.
its long, thin, red fingers stretching to all corners,
nothing escapes its grasp, and with the low thumps it
inflicts each time it exhales, it is no wonder everything
obeys, for who could defy such authority, who knows better
than this dominion which takes life by the neck and throttles it out of sleep?
written: Thursday 26th March, 2004, 10:54pm.