Agonia

Photo by Žygimantas Dukauskas on Unsplash

Isa

i always wonder what this is burning up inside me wanting to consume and be consumed to find myself sublime — like ash

a hunger baring its fangs craving to sink into something succulent — letting it drip slowly to my neck in sweet sticky streams

ambrosiac nectar flowing down wanting to live and consume ever so deliciously as my eyes roll back into its sunken sockets

not enough simply — to bite but to suckle on something reaching out with my tongue flicking with the mantra and rhythm of more

i seek to fulfill to cover to throng that which i think is insatiable hunger turning craven into religion for those unwanting heaven

Dalawa

but for heaven to be borne on this fleshy earth to become absolute in the terrors of want and searching for the horrors in desperation

to inhale the sickly sweet nectarine stench of fallen overripe fruit and revel in the rot maggot want of honeyed fantasies hiding

the bitter fester of knowing that void can never be filled by the things on this good earth with pilgrimages to the temple mount

we walk the broken earth — crawling on our bellies wretched and cursed still seeking the incense burning on the temples of unknown desire

thinking eagerly that the mad craven hunger subsides with each frenzied bite taste smell of the fruits that first fell

and the shock of when Eve first came — into the knowing of want creating Paradise in that juicy first bite of unknown desire

Tatlo

we are but beggars waiting on the saccharine serotonin drip of the next big thing tumbling down long chain of history wanting

wanting and hearing nothing other than the prayer mantra of MORE. MORE. MORE. finding it drizzle more than storm

yet we gather the ambrosiac desire deigned from heaven’s fall to shoot up into our veins to numb the cloying pain of being

we become what we want we are the beggars we hate on the streets because we see ourselves in their destitution of want — desire — more

another ripe rotten fruit another choice cut of meat another feast for the empty another eye-socket to roll back into ecstasy