PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I have carried 

the weight of that world, 

that unreal world which could've been

I craved feelings

Which sometimes felt so close I thought

If I only reached out 

with my bony, veiny hands 

I might grab it

Yet it was always tantalizingly out of reach

I could never stop staring at it either

Devouring it with my eyes and feeling the madness it conjured 

That out-of-reach, just-past-arm’s-length, made-up world,

The starving pit in my stomach of great expectations denied

I promised myself one day things would be like that

That it wasn't going to be like this forever

That I'd stop consuming myself with my eyes

In every shop window and parked car and mirror

Like I was looking for reassurance

Reassurance for what, I don’t know

That I was alive, perhaps

I never felt alive 

However, I do feel powerless, and angry

And I took it out on myself

By sewing my mouth shut

Until my ribs poked out and my cheeks went hollow

And the tendons on the backs of my hands bulged like cords

And the bones of my hips protruded like a bowl

And who’s fault is it? My own, of course!

We all know this curse–

we are the instruments of our own destruction.

I find it difficult to accept, but in my heart I know it’s true

At least for me

It’s an appetite, a craving. A libido.

A force inside of me that whines impatiently 

To rub itself on the pleasure of self-annihilation

No.

It’s so much simpler than that.

I just feel 

Hungry