All of this
Pointless desperation,
Pressing inward
Toward self-destruction.

The seasons fall hard
Upon one another,
Making my time feel short.

In the last light,
Jupiter and Venus align,
Pointing westward,
But I no longer remember
What I seek here.

Frayed wires
Sputter and crackle,
And I’m hung up
On making amends
For all my disconnection.

You and I —
We are addicted
To overthinking.
We tell ourselves lies
About purpose and feeling.

So, feeling akin,
I make you a feast —
The salt on my tongue,
Blood and bone,
Flesh unto flesh —
And devour you in dreams.

Then awaken
To something more
Than the routine exchange
Of language and kisses.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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