fuck.
we always think we have something good going for us,
something substantial;
although minuscule
it’s something good.
it can be as trivial as flying is to a bird,
or as imperative as breathing is to living things;
we need or require both depending on our being.
that something good is what we need,
what i need;
but it’s slowly losing its importance,
or worse yet,
ability to keep me satisfied,
happy even.
i depend on myself for the most part for the latter.
placing that responsibility on someone else is like being a beggar on the busiest streets of a city,
it results in little to nothing,
and in the end we’re left unsatisfied,
broken,
yearning for something more,
something that’ll satisfy our relentless being.
you weren’t the answer for me,
you couldn’t be.
you were full of lies and deceit.
lies wrapped around your soul like ever growing vines on a tree trunk,
grasping upwards,
covering every space it’s tendrils could possibly reach.
you were poisonous.
your vines reached out to me as you caressed my soul with your filthy hands.
you stroke the arch of my back allowing it to root itself in my skin.
your tongue is down my throat sending throbbing vines towards my heart.
you reached into me with your fingers and planted your poison in my core,
it shoots out of the beds of your fingers as you slide further and further into me;
poisoning me
and owning me and filling me with your self made deceit.
you knew what you were doing,
it’s part of who you are;
you voluntarily ruined me.
i couldn’t stop you,
to me you were the most ethereal flower in the garden of Eden.
i wanted you.
i wanted you to blossom inside of me,
your nectar to invigorate me
giving me life and joy and such raw pleasure.
you were all that but nothing at the same time.
you couldn’t possibly be a life bringing flower because you were rotten;
right down to your very core.
you’re dead on the inside but
nonetheless, i craved your life.
by;
.sarah barros.
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