All my life I'd been starving.
This world offered me feasts after
Feasts but it seemed that even if
I swallowed the whole Earth
I'd still hunger.

One day a witch approached me
Promised me a magic sack,
That with the right nourishment,
Wouldn't ever empty
'Till I die.

All she asked for in return
Were descriptions of dishes.
Their taste, shape, smell, in detail.
For she can only eat
This way.

And so I complied with it, gratefully.
She casted charms, ordered me to eat:
"Just open your mouth, it's there."
Feeling groggy, I reached.
I felt it.

So marvellous, juicy, so fresh.
I praised that new found piece of flesh.
She smiled. "Dig deeper", she prompted.
So I'd broken my jaw,
Ecstatically.

Then licked the blood off my chin,
It was sweet and sour, just served.
How much further must I dig
For this feast's main course?

My beating
Heart.

Precious memories align
A vivacious melody bursts out in their gleam
A passionate inferno resides inside of me
A universe special to my heart in its shiny appearance
Singing its inner melancholy

In spite of the analysis I yield
For my soul is on vacation
Going for shopping in the paradise of loneliness

Doom is a perilous art. I wait expectantly for the fall. It doesn't come, not yet. It's easier to feel in the dark.
I can **** my own demons. Or, at least, starve them in the corner. Experience carved armor into my skin. Theirs is still soft, squishy.
They're so blissfully oblivious. Put this snow globe moment up on the shelf. Pain doesn't have to exist anymore. I'm exhausted.  
The black hole inside my ribs swallows up everything. My chest aches in a way I'm not used to. This isn't my sadness. Is this fear?
I collect stickers and stuffies with fervor. My pockets are lined with candies to stick the pieces back together. I'm sure I'll hear it. It's not often that ten hearts shatter at once.
Gap in the picture. No matter what, they're going to feel the aftershock. Turkey basted in tears surely tastes dry. I hope October never ends.

find my poems
in a hundred years
and analyze them
as though they are written
in a foreign language
from a foreign time
full of foreign ideas
and words

analyze the way i say
i'm sad

"the darkness outside
spills into my empty room
on a body
wracked with sorrow
but too proud to cry"

analyze the idea
that everything i write
means something else
and i am not just
too lazy for prose

interpret me needing to talk
as me creating allusions

say to my face that when i said

"i'm happy"

it was sarcastic irony that reflected
my inner turmoil

analyze my poem
that is free therapy
to mean something
i wrote just for you

it speaks to you because
my word choice
was simple
every day

it speaks to you because
my alliteration is
totally
on purpose

it speaks to you because
literary terms
speak to you
more than some words
that meant

"i'm sad"

analyze me
and look past my struggles
that don't fit your agenda

analyze me

i am poetry

my soul is poured out
in each of these lines
each letter is me

so analyze me
like one of your french girls

make me beautiful

make me something that is
not
desperate poetry

make me you

We're just 1 mole of inches away,
Just 9,501,262,626,262,624,256 miles away.