InsatiableStarvation

"Boomslang" I have tasted her heart... And I still remember it's flavor: Ambrosial. I underestimated it's potency. Like nectar, her love oozed from her heart to my lips and from my lips to my words. It now calcifies in my skeleton. The venom has taken it's place already, and I am again it's victim. I am again in love... It melts my inner defenses Reckless, relentless I am not breathing, but breathless. It mocks me, what was the expense, to have this intense, immense, toxin commence? And so, why does it burn like hell if I've been though it a million times? Why does her love scald, even after I promised mine? Does love happen like th

"Turtle" After being broken many times, I have learned to mend, and now? I'm unbreakable. They whisper while I'm there, like trying not to disturb, the animal that resides, in mental chains. "We're family, we do everything we can for each other." They say, as they borrow yet another sum from me to feed themselves and take the credit for everyone else. This is not what family does. They say blood is thicker than water but never once, has blood sustained me. Never once, have they. They sort out my accounts when they need be, so that they can use what they need... Take from me what they don't. This is not my home. No. I will put my fo

"Novaturient" I sit here, alone. at at dingy couch, with a broken pen and book a warm cup of tea, and a mind ready to crumble. You see, lately these thoughts of Empty, Alone, Rage, Unworthy, They pester my mind. Unwarranted. I no longer wake up ready to start my day. I just wake up wanting it to end already. I have reached my point, where even imagination grows stagnant, And my stress, grows monstrous. But. I still have some hope, some poetry, some sliver of peace in my chaotic mind. Yeah... I still have my word. And I write, slowly mending; knowing full well, I will escape, I can survive , I must write more. And I feel it... Th

I think between the interval of helping everyone and, helping anyone, I lost myself... and I can't help that anymore. I used to be able to wake up Thinking that someone would appreciate The little things. I go back to sleep later Thinking: 'The little things didn't matter today.' No, they didn't matter today. I wake up not positive, or negative, but neutral. Neutral because the the feeling, the effort, the caring, was for someone to be helped, but not remember who helped them. It's like... They thank the help, but not the helper. So when I strive, I don't feel like I'm striving for the sake of me, But for, everyone else's. Yeah, I wa

"Untitled" there is not enough eyes to see the beauty of other eyes, and what they have seen. My eyes have seen tragedies worth the sight of no jester they have seen moments that elapsed in several blinks. it's sometimes a terrible thing that whatever we see, we do not just see it, but rather, we try to understand why it's there. But, whether it's bad or good, it won't matter. I'd rather keep my sight, and risk the day, Then to curse the sense, and never see it again.

"The Catacombs." Some have kept skeletons in their closet. I have kept catacombs... A closet wouldn't fit, All the secrets I tucked away.

"The Weight" The calluses are the only thing I left have of her. My hands used to be strong, Powerful, Caring. They are nothing more than mangled memories Of the bearing weight I once carried. Her heart is a lead block, Her feelings heavier, Than most men could lift. I took the challenge, Showed her my strength, And carried her heart high. I grew more formidable, My strength exponential; Her feelings stronger. We were inseparable. Over time... Her heart became lighter Not of ease to me, Not when I see Her heart slowly gravitating Away. Another mass loomed above, Much more pompous; Bigger than mine. Her heart natura