I crave;
an irrevocable love.
Insatiable.
Unsustainable.
Deep, and wide, and forever.
But nothing
IS
Forever.
The world is not built to hold up the end of an always and endless needle prick blood promise.
till death do us part love.
I lust, for understanding.
A person who;
with every fault flaw and fracture of myself
can see not past them, but through them.
With them.
I wish for the love of the movies.
The books.
The poems and the fables.
The love of my childhood neighbours grandparents, and the kissing sailor photograph.
I envy
the ideology
that anyone:
could take the broken wreckage the world has left of me and love it thoroughly.
Completely and unconditionally
And most important: endlessly.
But the world is not built for the forever I need. It's built on the consistency of nothingness.
It's made for endings, and transgressions, and emptiness and disparity.
This.
This life.
Is my limbo.
And frankly, I'd rather be in hell.
C.G.
YOU ARE READING
No one is there
Poetrypoetry book. all the things I've written that I could never say out loud. Some topics may be difficult for some people so check for disclaimers .
