I feel like a purged bulimic, starving in despair.
Life is burning my lips, rotting my teeth, but the damage - I don’t care.
I gorged on the gorgeous and churned every thought
into a mess of fear and lust and hate, pouring out like a shot -
that’s not the worst part. That force is addictive, real, meaningful. It hurts, but like all things beautiful and all life lived in love, it has a hopeful purpose, and end to defend
A random God-send, but afterwards - dark and still as a grave.
The feeling is gone, the sense I wished to save.
It is frightening, useless, dying without end. Friendships lost, lovers fading, family and faith and past - Even this seems terrible. It is, no doubt. What can a mind accomplish? Can my heart really love? Men are islands everywhere,
drowning in this sea of despair,
and no one will hear me cry
for help if the waves crash too high.
It is not good for man to be alone. Damn straight!
Taike all my ribs and some toes and teeth
Make her a head and nothing underneath -
Anything from what I can give,
So tattered and deformed, not worth letting live.
I want a friend to hold in my arms.
To fail, make wail, to pasture her farms,
and to scold me for lewdness and rudeness and this depression that won me nothing but an aching stomach and an empty head. This is my vomitorium - surely a barbarian will destroy me soon.