Full.

I wonder if I'll ever be full.
Full of love.
Full of life.
Full of joy.
Full.
I wonder if I'll ever stop feeling this dread.
Dread of hunger.
Dread of life.
Dread of joy.
Dread.
The pomegranate sits.
Sits in its own juices.
In its own spot.
Living in the chest cavity.
Providing love.
Providing life.
Provide joy.
Providing.
It tastes bitter going down.
But it keeps me full.
Full of temporary love.
Full of temporary life.
Full of temporary joy.
Full for a temporary amount of time until the dread sinks into my stomach,
joining the bitterness of the pomegranate.
It no longer provides that love, life, joy.
It now provides the dread.
The dread of knowing.
Knowing I'll never be full.
Knowing all I will do is take until there is no more.
Until all that can be given is a body.
Body so bitter, that you just happen to think it's a pomegranate.
The pomegranate is a bitter fruit.
Especially when all it can do is provide temporarily.
I will never be full.

Note to reader(s): I know this weird and poorly written, but I'm trying. If you have critiques, please feel free to share. I've just been seeing a bunch of stuff on pomegranates recently and they remind me of cannibalism(I think because of an art piece I saw recently, forgot what it was called though☹️). Cover done by Vlad Loktev. Hope you enjoyed my random ass story, and please remember, stay safe!!
(If you're reading this sera, say hi pooks🫶)