She is loved. She is stubborn
Mad at that part of the world
That loves her
For loving her
Without asking first

She never asked for this
Though the space between her lines
Already did

Those words
Those traitors
How dare I
Understand with
my heart

She needs to need
She wants the thirst
The hunger, the craving
The needing, the yearning,
The lack at its worst

She wants
none of the learning;
Only the burning
That gives her the thrill
The stinging,
The near-numb
Throbbing
In every flutter
Between every pulse
Through every string

Giving her is
Taking from her
Would it work in reverse?



She is loved.
Stubbornly denying it.
Fearing her happiness.
Banishing the ones who care.

Because her happiness
Potentially could mean
Not having things
to write about
It equals change
And breaking out the zone
Of torturous comfort



I’m afraid of what she seeks
And how she sees those burning curls
And what she does with sparks
And why she fosters embers

I’m scared the most
Of her using flames divine
To burn herself inside
A dark obsession
That swallows every light

*

I’m afraid she seeks love
So she could hurt herself with it
She uses it
As a means to an end
The end being the feeling
Of being hurt
So the ashes of that
Would be her ink
Fuelling her pyre
Of
“behold the beauty of suffering”

Distress calls are a Venus flytrap
Don’t come flying to the rescue
Or your wings will be
Its 4 o’clock snack
Can’t seem to shut its flap
Ever hungry for more
Always empty at the core
Traveler beware;
Heed not that mayday;
Move on and pay no care!

The more I use it
The more I hate myself
The more I hate myself
The more I use it