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literature
The Blood Under The Skin ~ Serodous
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Literature Text
If I could feel it any more vividly
I would say the sensation is like feeling blood excrete from the vein
And pour down the side, slowly trickling on the surface
Sickly convulsions in my stomach, handling heat stroke heaving
Keeping my eyes weaving in and out, prevention of sleeping
I remember being treated like I’d die from a rose thorn
I keep having heart-palpitations
Like someone keeps changing radio stations
I have static in my brain and a metronome to clack my teeth to
Reminiscing my hallucinogenic intelligence
Fading with blood that falls from the very stem
That it was once conceived and accepted… Out the body, down the sleeve, now rejected
It’s coming in patches
Stains of agony and it latches
To the muscle and bone
A sense of home
Kingdom crafted but broken
And I’m peeling itchy skin, where bruises ripple like watered reflections
In my eyes a pond
Leaking from the top to the skies above
My skins bubbling from the touch
Radio stations… Radio stations, it’s like I’m speaking to an empty room
My frequencies chafing on the dial, no ears to contain this
A broadcast waking in the shadows, where all the numbers are vacant
It’s like my throat spits white noise in front of me
Speaking to everyone but my voice carries the words spluttered and through my teeth
Scratching these thoughts into a desk until I’m bruised and bleeding again
I’ve been speaking to this microphone… Hoping God will pull it together and abracadabra to me a phone
So I can try something else because these frequencies are stretching out my eardrums making me deaf
I want to do more than just alleviate these pains with a pen and a rotten wooden desk
A sense of my own
Bricks falling from the castle
And dust covering over me
So if I could describe it more vividly
It’s like I’m humming my own anguish because my tongue’s been ripped from my mouth
And I’m bleeding it out, my stomach’s heaving it out… My brain won't quit the doubt
My blood's trickling from the veins
And it’s how I touched the rose thorn again
I remember being treated like this pain was my only friend
Carving words into an obscure field of view
So that anyone that would come across and ignore the white noise staring at you
Voice carried by the frequencies of the radio waves, carried beyond earth's entirety and left floating in space
Beyond here and the grave
A bruise on existence
Invisible pain, until you look at the stain…
I would say the sensation is like feeling blood excrete from the vein
And pour down the side, slowly trickling on the surface
Sickly convulsions in my stomach, handling heat stroke heaving
Keeping my eyes weaving in and out, prevention of sleeping
I remember being treated like I’d die from a rose thorn
I keep having heart-palpitations
Like someone keeps changing radio stations
I have static in my brain and a metronome to clack my teeth to
Reminiscing my hallucinogenic intelligence
Fading with blood that falls from the very stem
That it was once conceived and accepted… Out the body, down the sleeve, now rejected
It’s coming in patches
Stains of agony and it latches
To the muscle and bone
A sense of home
Kingdom crafted but broken
And I’m peeling itchy skin, where bruises ripple like watered reflections
In my eyes a pond
Leaking from the top to the skies above
My skins bubbling from the touch
Radio stations… Radio stations, it’s like I’m speaking to an empty room
My frequencies chafing on the dial, no ears to contain this
A broadcast waking in the shadows, where all the numbers are vacant
It’s like my throat spits white noise in front of me
Speaking to everyone but my voice carries the words spluttered and through my teeth
Scratching these thoughts into a desk until I’m bruised and bleeding again
I’ve been speaking to this microphone… Hoping God will pull it together and abracadabra to me a phone
So I can try something else because these frequencies are stretching out my eardrums making me deaf
I want to do more than just alleviate these pains with a pen and a rotten wooden desk
A sense of my own
Bricks falling from the castle
And dust covering over me
So if I could describe it more vividly
It’s like I’m humming my own anguish because my tongue’s been ripped from my mouth
And I’m bleeding it out, my stomach’s heaving it out… My brain won't quit the doubt
My blood's trickling from the veins
And it’s how I touched the rose thorn again
I remember being treated like this pain was my only friend
Carving words into an obscure field of view
So that anyone that would come across and ignore the white noise staring at you
Voice carried by the frequencies of the radio waves, carried beyond earth's entirety and left floating in space
Beyond here and the grave
A bruise on existence
Invisible pain, until you look at the stain…
© Serodous Poetry. 13th June 2015.
© 2015 - 2024 Serodous
Comments2
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Hello, I'm from 
I very much enjoyed reading your poem out loud and just hearing them reverberate. There is a very unique and somber cadence to this piece. It almost makes one treat the words rather reverently.
I thought long and hard about the possible meaning of this poem because it seems to carry a lot of depth and story between its lines. It almost feels like a guarded yet nevertheless intimate confession. Is it?
My understanding of it is that it is about using one's writing, using one's art -using performance- as a means of making sense of some internal pain and confusion. It's like that moment in class when you try to figure out the answer by opening your mouth first and using what comes out as a means to kickstart your own thought process. The only difference is that there is more turmoil here. More desperation and restlessness. Because what you are trying to figure out is more integral to your self-identity and self-esteem. The things you have to muddle through are more inextricably linked with the depths of your mind and personality and by god, there are so many depths.
I think it's also about the agony that comes along when something you love isn't enough to quell the noise and the storms in your head. In this case that something being writing.
Am I perceiving this correctly? Or am I just letting my imagination get away from me? In any case, your piece is very well-written and obviously well-thought out. The imagery from start to finish is fascinating and precise.
"...metronome to clack my teeth to..."
"...bruises ripple like watered reflections..."
"...being treated like I’d die from a rose thorn..."
"...broadcast waking in the shadows..."
All of them. Just all of them.
There are portions however, especially in the beginning that sound off and not at par with the rest of the poem but that's just me nitpicking. I hope you keep on writing and I wish you a very good day.
I very much enjoyed reading your poem out loud and just hearing them reverberate. There is a very unique and somber cadence to this piece. It almost makes one treat the words rather reverently.
I thought long and hard about the possible meaning of this poem because it seems to carry a lot of depth and story between its lines. It almost feels like a guarded yet nevertheless intimate confession. Is it?
My understanding of it is that it is about using one's writing, using one's art -using performance- as a means of making sense of some internal pain and confusion. It's like that moment in class when you try to figure out the answer by opening your mouth first and using what comes out as a means to kickstart your own thought process. The only difference is that there is more turmoil here. More desperation and restlessness. Because what you are trying to figure out is more integral to your self-identity and self-esteem. The things you have to muddle through are more inextricably linked with the depths of your mind and personality and by god, there are so many depths.
I think it's also about the agony that comes along when something you love isn't enough to quell the noise and the storms in your head. In this case that something being writing.
Am I perceiving this correctly? Or am I just letting my imagination get away from me? In any case, your piece is very well-written and obviously well-thought out. The imagery from start to finish is fascinating and precise.
"...metronome to clack my teeth to..."
"...bruises ripple like watered reflections..."
"...being treated like I’d die from a rose thorn..."
"...broadcast waking in the shadows..."
All of them. Just all of them.
There are portions however, especially in the beginning that sound off and not at par with the rest of the poem but that's just me nitpicking. I hope you keep on writing and I wish you a very good day.