The title was too long, so I left part of it off.
The full title:
I Wonder How Long a Body Can Starve, Before It Forgets It's a Body
An electric shock bites at my body, once again. With teeth to destroy, it plays with me - a shiver down to my spine, an itch so deep, it's felt out of body.
It's terrifying, to admit such weakness. I can feel your veins pulsing with blood, needing more oxygen than one body could allow - allow me to touch your lips, allow my pulse to rack your body with shivers.
The temptations are gone, for now. The cold chills subsiding to a pressure in my hips I'm used to ignoring -
I wonder how long a body can starve, before it forgets it's a body, not a capsule for a soul.
I can still feel warmth, if I touch my own skin, yet, my heart skips a beat, at the thought of never feeling your pulse beneath my tongue. This brings a curious moment, a brief thought -
But, we mustn't think of that. Nothing is hopeless, until the body is dead. I must:
One finger, running lines on my other hand's palm - such a calming attribute, to see movement put with touch. I can feel - excluding emotion - skin against skin,
a warmth felt beneath, where the veins pulse to move blood to my heart and brain, keeping me alive. It's good to remember that I'm alive.
Breaths continue, as they always have, plaguing me from the moment of my existence - slow and steady, deep and plentiful. Most do not relinquish the knowledge that we're lucky to still be breathing, whether it is quite a poisonous bit of air. Carcinogens are at large; we must be careful not to fall prey!
...Once, I could have admitted to needing the disease -
Once, I could have admitted, I would have liked the feeling of fire burning through my veins, my stomach full with acidic wastes, irritating itself into nausea -
Once, I could have joked that if my heart broke lose, causing my thoughts to stop,
joked that if my breath became shallow and I found it difficult to breathe -
And once, I could admit that if my heart failed, I'd be able to survive -
But love is an undignified Russian Roulette. At least in normal circumstances of the game, you have your own gun, rather than depending on the other person to keep you alive.
My eyes close;
The shivers rack my body again, with the thought of your lips near my collar bone.
I have to confess I'm not an expert on prose poetry, however from my limited understanding I believe the theme and narrative style of this is an ideal fit for the form.
Part of me wonders if you really wanted to make this a poem though - I feel like this is a little overpunctuated, particularly with commas, and some of them seem to fall in places where there could be a line break if it was a poem.
Also, the central alignment is strange in a prose piece, and makes the very short lines awkward to read. I would recommend an orthodox left-align for anything and everything written in a prose form.
Onto the content itself; I like the undercurrent beneath this one, it lends itself well to an idea of an intense love affair! The sense of physical addiction is depicted in a clever way which definitely aims to show rather than tell, and seeing the narrator going cold turkey makes for an uncomfortably insightful read.
I really like what you have here, and I think with a little bit of editing it would be even better.
A beautiful write... I too liked the opening... The flow is good, though it is a prose poetry and the message of the poem is conveyed through... U have given an indepth feel of every movement and so it hooks the reader throughout... I could imagine every line u wrote. it sets an imagery.