I want it
Knowing I don't
Still want it
Knowing it chokes
An intrusive bubble inside my oesophagus
Cloying neural dilemmas
Initiating the emptiest of tremors
Inside my distant centre
And I
I romanticise the feeling
The aches that taste quite nice
The aches that temper sticky vitals
The aches that melt like crystalline honey
Infusing my psionic membrane
Reminiscent of healing
Yet slowly begin congealing
Eventually revealing
Simmers of wounding
Disguised as desire
My own dirty little habit
I keep refusing to shake evade or retire
Because something so nauseating
and ugly
Makes me feel at home in my body
Whilst it sets itself on fire
Self inflicting sour splinters
enticing enough to bind back into past sprains
Times bred by bland breadcrumbs
so hungry I stayed
Fed on ephemeral banquets,
Yet hooked in by my own trap Spiralling inside an illusive circuit
Entangled within every layer
Within every lap
Absences become palpable enough to deafen my dialogue
A flesh rotting soul crushinv hell
And so I succumb to playing with my own train of thought
A temporary ploy
Somebody’s favourite toy
In a world parallel
But I have tried, tirelessly
To wash out that stain burrowed deep in me
The one that tugs on my craving to conquer
and softens my comfort in grief
All the while my blue skin pines for another delicious bite
As she chews her favourite flavoured tar
Waiting for sweet surrender
Waiting for exhale
From insatiable appetite