Whirlpool. A poem.

My head is spinning,
lost in your days/daze.
Your whirlpool pulls me down.
I clamber for extant purchase,
a drowning man on your razor edge,
gormlessly clutching at eidetic straws
as water chokes my lungs.

Your centrifugal force,
it wears my patience paper thin,
teaches me mock restraint
and leaves me listless
upon a narrowing ledge,
where vertigo takes control.

I have no love for who I am,
but who am I in this fixation?
You drain the life from me,
like a purulent vampire,
and let the swirling waters
claim my desiccated corpse.

Your twisting, seething depths,
that churn and bite and goad,
and send be back to whence I came;
embittered, emboldened,
to begin the game again.


My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. To find out more, click here.

Published by stevestillstanding

I’m a writer who loves tabletop role playing games, poetry and (you guessed it) writing. Occasionally I have something to say...

8 thoughts on “Whirlpool. A poem.

  1. You seem deeply and personally involved with the human race. It is interesting to read about your views on these relationships. I have been out of circulation lately, not commenting here or on Facebook, which seems to alienate everyone. But I appreciate your poems.

    Liked by 1 person

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