He doesn't say my name anymore; not since the first time around. I am baby girl, angel, gorgeous. He hasn't said my name since that day.
"Well, ---, I don't think this is going to work."
That was the day I drove to the boat ramp at my lake, cut the brakes in my car, and waited.
The day I quit my job, dropped out of school, and deleted all of my social media account.
The time I dedicated all my free time - and time was all I had anymore - to researching how to recreate that fire in me and then how to treat third-degree burns.
The day I learned that time melts like chocolate when you hold it long enough, and it looks a lot like blood on my hands.
The day I learned white knuckling memories doesn't mean they seal the fractures between my fingers.
The day I learned some things just aren't mine to keep.
I've been touchier since that day; just one poke and I'm black and blue - yellow is rare, but it happens sometimes.
The doctor gave me some pills to help with the ache, and they keep me pretty full, so I don't know why I still have that gurgle in my stomach almost all the time, why I still have that itch in my veins when something is almost but not quite.
I tell myself constantly that a substitute can only hold off the craving for a little, but I need it now, and I never learn.

you were my medicine
but now im overdosing
straight to the brain
when i take you in
doses so large people wonder
how im not dead yet

and my friends are in my ear
screaming, crying, reminding me
that all you caused was hurt
but your love was just so blinding

maybe our love was laced
because darling, im high on you
and youre high on me
our romance became chemical

****, u were my medicine
and now im overdosing
everytime you go
it leaves me jonesing
for one more hit
the sweet sensation of acidic touch
i couldnt afford to believe in
such thing as too much
euphoria

the sting, the drip, the pain
the energy i get
only lasts a fleeting moment
so i crave something harder

my need for pain
became insatiable
i dont know if im capable
of staying sober  
3/26/2019

That's the thing about insatiability
It can't be compartmentalized
It doesn't have an appointment
Or even a purpose, really
It is a persistent, unwelcome fog
That creeps into your skull
Until it smooths over every surface
And dampens every thought beneath it
And though some days
The fog may dissipate
Nothing is ever good enough
Not for long, anyway

My cravings
Drenched
Seeking deeper taste
Of you
Insatiable desire
At the centre
Of my heart
To write poetry
On your chiseled body
Your moans
Send me on frenzied flow
Sinfully voracious
Visually I feast
Your naked hide
Every curve of your body
Purest form of masterpiece

Suffocated.
The first.
Dry ice.
The second.
Drifting aimlessly.
The last.

These feelings inside me,
They numb me further.
Numb me into a permanent pain.
As I try to turn around
The last
I fall deeper into the numbness of emptiness.

What is truly satisfying?
What is satiable for one's soul?
Is there truly such a thing?
That can embrace one's soul and leave it asking for nothing more?

Is it because I'm too sensitive?
Or are my expectations too high?

He offered me the earth and all in it
Riches and gold, power and fame
A place above kings, a throne to sit
Pleasures in life without no shame

In exchange for a soul
That I possess
You won't be a ghoul
Or demon possessed

Not nearly enough I turned and smiled
I wish not for fame
Nor money and power
If you give what I need
We have a deal

A man without desire
For the things on earth
What do you wish that I can't give
What do you have that most men wish

You're the Prince of Earth
And I'm satiable but
Not of the things in this world
Those things never last

I want to scream
I want to cry
I want to freak out.
I want to live
I want to laugh
I want to love.
I am so insatiable,
I will probably combust.