My appetite knows no end.
My eyes are never satisfied.
The fel beast within me snarls in disgust at my weakness and demands more and more.
Nothing is ever sufficient.
Nothing is new under this burning sun.
I feel the coating of sin on my skin.
Burning ever so near.
The heat of want
coupled with the ache of desiring more,
more than this broken body knows how to deliver.
Even if I was given everything,
everything my eyes see
and my hands long to touch,
what would I have left?
There is no contempt
like there is for myself
at such weakness
as wanting it all
so I can hate myself more.
Words.
Useless bloody words
falling from a broken mouth
and all I have is all I have
while I wait and pray.
My righteousness is less than filthy rags.
I am broken and full of contempt,
my rage a senseless repetition
just a reflection of everything I am.
Panic.
Recluse.
Despising myself.
But hope.
Bright burning impossible hope.
Words of Peace breaking my heart,
just letting me begin to heal.
Carry me as I am weak.
Oh so weak from the loss of blood.
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