Pain

Sprung delicately from the tips,
of quivering griping fingers,
breathed from the pain in burning lips,
feeding off the blood that still lingers,

bending towards the screams,
that rips in angst from throats,
and sickly twist throbbing dreams,
neglected lungs give out on last notes,

grasping for the thriving air,
till their hands drip in beading blood,
they start to realize oxygen isn't there,
the thumping pain drowns and flood,

it slides through our fingers and eyes,
pure silk that binds the slicing pain,
the flutter of wings to catch our cries,
but poison fills us and emotions drain,

it tumbles in shrieks around us,
the thorns rip through our nerves,
and we look down at the melting mess,
and wonder is this what we deserve.