I remember you, as though you
were the biggest sin bound to my surface,
a wound pushed forward, festering indefinitely
throughout the realms of pain.
I am brandishing myself as lost.
As something so far from a home burning
treacherously from the heart.
I see you, visiting in and out of my mind,
I hallucinate your warmth back beside me
as though for a moment, there was never
a lone minute without.
You are a glass of water in a world dying from
dehydration,
yet I pull you close, need reckoning inside
of my scarred body, consecrated; a Holy Temple
undeserving of all the praise.
But I do not sip. I do not sip.
They say that that is a good thing
Fighters fight what others cannot perceive,
the real battle is with oneself.
But you, my illness; is all that's interesting about me.
Fatal, such brutal attraction belittles my once
good character, tell me;
How much is too reckless, when I talk about the wreckage
of you?
I wish you could see me, my reflections echoed
in empty nights,
my sinister tricks of the light,
everything considered destructive in the least
structured way and see something;
as opposed to nothing,
as opposed to this room, in the frame of my anxious
mind;
All things that are lost, are taking up the space on one
side.
I feel like the word broken.
Incomplete. Finish me.
They promised I'd feel better without you.
gauG
YOU ARE READING
Vultures And Other Vulnerabilities.
Poetry"I hope it gives you the same satisfaction as finishing a really good book, Or kissing someone, and not walk away feeling like they have taken something from you."
