I keep eating things I shouldn’t.
Dreams, cars, ink, brick
These are the things that make me sick.
Skin, bone, flesh and scars
Topped with sugar, flush with stars
Love, death, silence still
Down the gullet, living will
Though I swore I wouldn’t
I’m eating things I shouldn’t
Again.

You were the first drop of rain after a seemingly endless drought.
The beginning of the end of a barren Era.

After that first drop, the crops began to take life.
The trees seemed to stand taller,
The animals, seemed calmer.

You were the start of everything new.
You were the embodiment, of everything true.

I couldn't ask a thing from you,
Your presence is enough to fulfill a lifetime.

Everyone says that
I should search for happiness.
Happiness doesn't interest me,
isn't interesting.

Everyone says that
I'm wasting my time on Earth,
dropping the dirt on myself in
my digging to hell.

Well what the **** would I do
with a satisfied desire?
I'll not be sated to meet Satan,
but to take the dour throne!

Feed me!
Offer up a
hidden danger
of a love.
Feed me pain.
That I may
offer up. . .
substance.

when the prophet immigrated to Yathrib
it was called the lighted city, after he immigrated
it was filled with new sound, he advised

them at little word,"
greeted everyone you look
feed every hunger , he seemed

pray to the God at night
you will feel right
and enter the heaven without fight

or hard or any effort
that the meaning he said
could we do it

Reflection.
Awareness.
How am I
still walking
still breathing
despite
carcinogenic
thoughts & feelings?
Reflection.
Ascension.
How am I
still drinking
still eating
despite
reverberation
in the earth's stomach?
Feeding myself to feed you.

Feeding myself to feed you.

. . .

Wet fingertip offered to the wind itself,
summon me personal heaven,
please, summon me
personal heaven.

Flat foot big toe tapping out the pulse
of the bare ground on concrete,
asking heaven of
the soil. Pleading.

Feeding myself to feed you.
Happily happening,
as but a terrible chance.

Happily happening.

I don't feel the want, to talk too much
her touch and eyes say more
every stroke, tender kiss
reaches, to my core

A subtle caress of motion
an embrace of words, pure art
statuary built from scratch
moving in my mind, and heart

So don't stop, or pause
on the path, of silent need
hand in hand, we'll wander on
and on each other, feed

I sit on her couch
Sipping *****
from some mixed concoction
Scrolling through the social media experiences
meant to be a self reassurance
of how good we have it
when it’s just so
******* hard.

These little positives accumulated
to remind myself
that even in the midst of my hardest trials,
don't get caught in the failures
but relish in the triumphs.

I don’t even look at the other feeds
so self absorbed
at reminding myself
that each day my hustle
will be rewarded with the ultimate win: love.
But success isn’t love... or a like
and every minute I spend self absorbed on what I don’t have
I miss out
on the minute to minute love
I receive with each interaction
from people I share space with.
Life isn’t a feed.
Life isn’t happiness every day.
Life isn’t measured by the have or have nots.
Life is this moment.
Life is this experience
and the decisions we make in them.

So I closed the phone
and listened
to her
sing.

She wasn’t doing it for the hashtag
or the like
and I listened.

Sipping on my *****,
closing my eyes.
I didn’t care what was seen
as long as she kept sharing
this moment with me.

The feed.

Ringing
Burst of nothingness
Fallen into mind
They scream
They bleat
Falling silently
Nothing to fleat
The flies swarm
They fleat
The tombs hide
Continue to eat
Gasp and cry
Buried inside
Beneith

my violent ideations
quell at the presence of
you only

as you lean in for a kiss
i find myself again
in some analeptic bliss

my mind is subdued by
only you

but you stepped out from
my dreams and now
you haunt reality

and this love is just an addiction
that i can't help but feed.