The Library

From time to time I'll post some of my writing. Short stories. Poetry.
Much of it stuff I'm still working on. I put it out for the sake of input and constructive criticisms, so feel free to comment.

Here's a piece I just came across. I think I wrote it when I was supposed to be studying for something or other.

"The Library"

It’s an upturned cheek that kills me.
That hurts and steels.
Presses my ass into the seat.
My feet grab, desperately, the firmament.
I keep from falling.

The crimson carpet starts beneath me,
extending infinitely away.
Dozens of computers, meter evenly about,
while quietly humming their anthems.
Crisp-quiet sentinels.
They frenzy into the cyber-vast,
With stillness.

Three little robots spew artificial life from their jaws.
Printed pages for lifeless lives
Fitfully stationed in front of their drones.
The room winks and puzzles in constant spurts,
Bordering on regularity, on organism.

My breath is here, too.

My body plays just
As still and lifeless as the rest
While beneath my skin flex muscles and corpuscles.
Tics of nerve and elation alternate
With pulls and tugs of stress,
Of release,
Of hurt so good.

My heart beats.

The walls tell the story.
The ebb of life is bounded
In 'lefts' and 'leaves'.
The mere hint of blush colors its white,
Running out towards a horizon
hidden by the oblique.
It too blushes.
It too keeps flow close.

And there she is killing me
With upturned cheeks.

-Raphael Armand