Flesh or fruit—what's your feast?
The forest doesn't ask, the jungle doesn’t preach.
It kills. It eats. It sleeps.
No courtroom. No guilt. No peace.

We **** too.
But with suits.
With fear.
With scars.

Some **** to live. Some live to ****.
A lion tears flesh.
We sign deals.
Which one's worse?

They prey. Not ******.
We ******. Then pray.

Is that justice...
Or just instinct in disguise?

Nature doesn’t ask why.
It simply survives.
But us?
We decorate our hunger…
…and call it power.

I pulled you in as the flames rose higher,
your breath crackling like broken glass.
You didn’t cry out — just trembled,
a soul unraveling under its own mass.

You were burning —
not metaphorically,
but truly, desperately alight.
Still, I wrapped my arms around you
as if love could extinguish fright.

I knew I’d blister.
I knew I'd bleed.
But pain is nothing
when guilt feels like need.

Your agony was silent thunder —
a war that raged beneath your skin.
And I, addicted to your chaos,
let it seep through me, let it in.

You didn’t ask to be held that way.
But you didn’t pull away either.
Maybe you needed the lie of comfort
as much as I needed to be the healer.

It’s pleasure wrapped in quiet violence,
a kiss carved from opposing truths.
A soft addiction dressed in longing,
a ghost that dances inside our youth.

A smile carved from shards of sorrow,
a touch that both soothes and stains.
Like drinking beauty from a broken bottle—
sharp, intoxicating, edged with pain.

We are two wounds, aching in rhythm.
One blazing. One begging to burn.
And still I held you,
hoping my ruin might
be the balm you never earned.

Because love, at its worst, is selfish.
And mercy, at times, is cruel.
And I…
I keep hugging the flame
just to feel something brutal.

I can't close my eyes
tears gather.
I can't breathe
the air is stuck.
I can't gulp
my throat is tight.

I try to plant my dream,
but land is
barren

Still, I try.
Even my conscience
mocks me.

How do you awaken a soul?
Through fireworks and bonfires?
Through grand adventures,
Or glass and ruby slippers?
A kiss in the rain, maybe—
Under a lamppost in Paris,
A waltz in a castle ballroom,
Or running through an airport gate
Just before takeoff?
A spinning camera, a swelling score,
A once-in-a-lifetime, cinematic something?

No.
Awakening the soul is simpler—
And yet, endlessly complex.
It happens in the red of grocery store roses at the airport,
In rushed breakfasts and packed lunches,
In kisses in threes,
And the way your hand finds mine
Without needing to look.
It lives in heard concerns,
In said apologies—
(and the changes that follow).
It's laughter breaking through after arguments
In silent morning cuddles
And the endless promise of staying

Setting a soul on fire is a spectacular thing,
But it’s the smallest sparks
That truly light the kindling.
And you, my love,
Have given me every quiet reason
For my heart to burn for you.

How do I stay unobtrusive, yet undiluted?
Acceptable, but still true?
Easy to swallow—
without being overshadowed?
How do I shine
without blinding?

Am I too much?
Too big, too bold,
too hard to hold,
too complex to comprehend?
A puzzle missing pieces—
or a 3D chessboard
on a tilted table?
Am I quantum physics
to the everyman?

I don’t think so.

But I am the stars—
distant, untouchable.
A unicorn—
rare, almost unreal.
A manic pixie dream girl—
Traipsing through reality.
That's what they say,
Ficticios or fantasy
Maybe even fake.

How can I bear my soul?

Who asked, who asked,
For your opinion to bask
When you are as simple as a buttered scone?

I deem you unworthy of speech,
As your words do each
Illustrate what your eyes have shown.

Who asked, who asked,
For it to be your task
When your opinion is not wanted?

You seem not to see,
That as your words reach me
I still remain undaunted.