Flesh eater

It is tragic
That i sit here
starved
wanting
Just a little bit more
Thou dost protest too much

I think that I am greedy to need so much
I have slutty needs
And dirty thoughts

transcendence and understanding have dissipated
I crave the dark

She is rising again
leading me by the hand
No longer
i can resist

Take me
Make a mockery of my good thoughts
Stain my body
Knock me to my knees
Burn the insides of my thighs
Tag me
Rock these bones

Pull tears from my face
Tumbling down the rabbit hole
I am desolation
I am desperation
I am rage

Comments

}astro{->mytho<-losophy said…
she writes, she feeds again, in cold black alleyways she gives birth to stillborn words that are resurrected upon touching down on the concrete, a beautiful creature of the night where under the moonlight, flowers grow twisted without soil, anchored in water, lying beside your bed beneath the sea, you rise when the sun is on the otherside of the earth, when Luna sits directly atop the waves, knocking at your door for you to come out and play. tragedy, that strange motif, often tugs like an umbilical cord, a tube for sustenance or a cord wrapped 'round our necks, claiming our lives.
6:56 PM
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