Being Inspired.

I suppose I'll be using this space (on occasion) to shamelessly share some of my own creative writing, it won't be very often so you won't be tortured for long. I blame all the talent I've come across recently at a local spoken word night, Word Up- something I shall be mentioning again at some point in the coming week.

I found a poem I wrote at the tender age of 17, when I was inhabiting the lands of inexperience. It was half done, so I've taken the liberty today to complete (and improve) it. So, here goes. Enjoy, I guess.

***

It took less than a minute for my whole life to turn round;
Shackled and bound.

Shackled and bound?
You want me to--
Tie you down?
Tie you up.

You want me to--
Take your wrists
To tie them up, to tie them like this?

I let myself be pulled into a blood drawn kiss.
Your love, it was kind of like a fist.

We made quick work of turning turning pain into pleasure.
As sharp as a needled syringe.

Needled syringe?
No, as a whip, a paddle, a cut.
A butterfly stitch.
As sharp as a broken glass tumbler--

I may have held the key to your restraints
but it was your spell I was under.

It was becoming obsessive,
harder and harder not to miss.
Your love?
Well, it was kind of like a fist.

The problem was we weren't our only addiction.
I called us junkies--
You called it 'a most pleasurable affliction'.

Even when we were high,
a length of silk would bind together our wrists
Our love;
It was kind of like a fist.