The hunger I feel, its almost too much to bear.
Flesh on flesh, we love to share.

The pull towards the edge comes deeper and deeper,
She grips down hard, she loves when I tease her.

Her hair so lush, so soft, clean.
She loves when its pulled, it makes her scream.

The fire that's felt burns deep inside,
Mind, body and soul begin to collide.

Her hands and mine, they are intertwined.
She looks at me and whispers "it feels so good inside".

The sweat seeps down, it reaches her lips.
She pulls me in close and says "now s^ck my t^ts".

My tongue, my hands, a mind of their own,
It takes but a second for her to moan.

Whether rough or gentle she is more than capable.
But I must say, her appetite is insatiable.

Oh god, yes I hear you say with a grin.
"Dont stop at all, just please give in".

I hold your wrists, tighter and tighter
A thought through my head says "kiss, caress and bite her".

With a touch and a whisper beside your ear
It sends you into a frenzy, that much is clear.

My hands, they move further down your skin
I then hear you whisper ,"Oh god, oh please just put it in".

Harder and faster between your hips,
The air, it's warm as it escapes your lips.

Your touch, your body, I crave it all
Be careful whilst on top, you wouldn't want to fall.

You feel me losing all control, the dimensions between us are so very thin

You body moves on it's own,  pure ecstasy it is. You grab hard and scream "just give in"

dog leashed, tied onto a pitch-black pole
woven to the pillar, like you're woven to my soul

every thought about you pours acid in my heart
and i cough out the rest like blood
one day i'm scavenging for water, a paranoid dart
the next i'm drowning in a hot-pink flood

i saw you in the window of that small local store
after becoming a regular, the door wouldn't open anymore
but you looked so pretty when you were so far away
and for some reason i come back every day

but it was so good at first
you made me finally believe
that someone out there could love someone like me

and i told you what i did wrong
and you said you didn't care
but i must've mistaken that love was in the air

i try to talk to you
i try to understand
but every word i say to you
you repeat back, just bland

and you blame it on me?
you say i'm the confusing one
so i chase and chase, give and give
you never let me take some

it's my mistake i put love first
my mistake i wasn't rational
my mistake that when you said you liked me
i somehow didn't think it was casual

i'm a dog waiting at your door
saliva puddle on your wooden floor
i wait for you to come back
like i'm tied to a pole, pitch-black

my hunger has been satiated now
i open my eyes for the sixth time
this has gone much longer than i can allow
you're making me run out of rhyme
i guess it was my mistake that even then, even now
i somehow thought you would be mine.

I never eat at break.
It started with recklesness;
it always starts like that.
Forgetting to pack up food in the mornings
where I could hardly get up.
The first days,
weeks,
months,
I was hungry.
Yet still every morning I forgot,
like an animal surviving in the present would.

Over time,
I forgot hunger too.

Why are we drawn
to lust,
to the hunger of flesh,
to devour food
as if the body remembers
a hunger older than time?

Because we are soil!
And we desire
grain,
flesh,
which too rise
from soil.

Like calls to like.
Atoms seek atoms.

The universe obeys
its own silent gravity.

Our lust,
and longings
die
when we return
to the dust
we came from.
But even then,
it’s not over.

Our atoms will scatter
into soil,
into seeds,
into skins.

And somewhere,
in someone,
they will long
again.
Not with our name,
but with our echo.

Maybe, the bodies you see
are echoes,
of echoes,
of echoes...
of echoes…
…
..
.

When an equivocal mind is fed ambivalence off silver spoons,
the inevitable death from starvation will arrive.
For I will never taste the conclusions
of my own vulgarization.
Ambiguity is no nourishment to satisfy my soul;
Though being consumed is quite finger-licking.

I’m chewing on my own becoming.

Will I have the right to be fastidious about
my growth?
If dipping myself in gold would be more
palatable to the one’s surrounding the table
only I sit upon?
Another round of silver contemplation and napkins please.

Mostly I sneak about under cover of night,
Fulfilling my awful aims away from broader sight,
For no one must suspect
The beast that dwells within their midst.

I am a master of concealment.
Smart and somber fabrics shield my skin
From the painful sear of daylight,
And my complexion, I keep like porcelain—
For no clean and delicate doll
Was ever suspected of reveling
In baths of hellfire
And drinking them up as greedily
As the desert soil drinks up a monsoon.
This façade I employ lest the people discover,
And ****** before me their holy images,
Burning me as if with a branding iron,
And driving me far from their dwelling
Into solitary desolation.

For in truth, I am an agent
Of offense and pollution
To all that is wholesome and good.
I entice man to share my fate.
He invites me in and I infect him –
The Imago Dei – with Death.
Driven by this curse, this unholy hunger,
I live only to eat –
That is, if one could even say I live.
There is no glory, no beauty in this state.
My eyes are as gleaming stars
And my skin is as a moonbeam,
But the flesh beneath is always freezing,
Always cold and always screaming
In agonized starvation
For more of what makes it sick,
The only warmth it knows being gleaned
From the bodies of its meals.
A quietly blaring reminder to me
That I am the Dead walking.

This night begins as many before it.
My clothes blotted crimson with fresh sin:
The stain of another’s flesh.
The latest meal to leave me ill,
And yet more hungry still.
I tread the gray and lifeless streets,
My dead frame mustering no defense
Against the chill of night.
All is dark and still, as no sound, no soul,
And scarce a light the night gives
To interrupt the feast within –
The Hunger consuming all thought,
And the Cold consuming all feeling.
My spirit sends out a silent plea
For, if not some kinder release,
A second death.

My wandering stops before the chapel,
The only structure affording light or color
To Nyx’s bleak realm.
The candles and lamps still all alight
Send cascades of rainbows
Surfing down upon beams of gold
Through the glass mosaics
To the ground outside.
Something in this ethereal beauty
Grasped something in my soul.
I wished to crumble, to sob,
As I felt so alien from whatever it was
That infused this light to make it good.
Yet I wished to float, to hope,
As here it was, pouring down before me—
Onto me.

Looking in then from afar
Through the colored glass,
I saw behind the altar raised high
On his execution tree,
The image of the Lamb
With sorrow carved into His face
And wounds painted onto His side.
My eyes stayed fixed to that solemn sight
Till they ran with salt.
“They say You came
To make clean the Unclean,
To wash away every vile stain
That corrupts Your Image,”
Said I.
“They say You were sent
To ransom the Dead;
To free the captives
Of Hades’ rotten grip.
To bring bread and water
That ceases all thirst and hunger,
And gives Man second life.
Were You not?”

As the question left my lips,
I heard from around the corner
A creaking in reply.
Curiosity spurred,
I crept around to find
The doors an inch ajar,
With a widening sliver of golden light
Pouring forth from within.
Such a peculiar glow it was,
So pleasant yet so frightfully strange.
It did not burn,
But was rather as a balm,
Or a mild, warm rain.
There I stood for many moments,
Rendered motionless
By a blend off sedative calm
And paralytic fear,
Until, carried on the streams of light
Came a gentle whisper to my ear
That spoke the sweetest, simple words:
“Dear wayward child, enter in.”