In the beat, the beat

A chant poem

Pulsing, the beat, pressing, confessing, to my eardrums, it’s darkest desires, drumming out the serotonin, honing my senses, defences dropping, beat dropping,

Those memories, seventeen, eighteen, mean nothing, without my memory, alive in me, these memories, living, I remember the days, those were the days, the days I can barely remember,

The nights, seventeen, eighteen, glean, bright, the lights, strobing, probing for my serotonin, honing my senses, defences dropping, beat dropping,

Letting go, going to let, any fret, of the day, go, days go by slower, than today, when months pass, in a way, more transient, those days, more transcendent,

Throbbing, breath penetrating, deeper, cigarettes to keep her, the rush, hot breath, hot touch, the rush, a gush of serotonin, honing my senses, defences dropping, beat dropping,

Those were the days…

© Darius the Mate

Written for dVerse Poets Pub, Meeting at the bar. Join in!

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Reach out, let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Wordplay Pathway

19 thoughts on “In the beat, the beat

    1. Oh yes, the journey home, and those fuzzy (in retrospect, and in fact, in the moment) mornings.

      For me, getting on the London Underground, travelling home after a “interesting” night, and crossing paths with the commuters on their way to work, bleary eyed and yawning, coffee on breath, locked in a metal box, on the tube, eyes making contact, in an awkward exchange, with those (us) wide eyed, and practically vibrating – when two worlds collide.


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