The Taste of Being Human

Dripping lips of poison tattoo my skin, as they graze along the caverns of an old and weary heart.

Its walls encrusted with the agony of darkness, misery and despair.

Built from the bricks of tragedy, sealed with scars and pounded together by the bruises of the past.

Crumbling ever slightly, as anticipation…and…this warming sensation begin to make me quiver.

Oh how I love the shiver, the shudder, this glimmer…of hope.

A momentary lapse of apprehension that will surely desecrate me further, but I hold no regrets.

I have no desire for the antivenom.

For I wish to revel in the agony of this destruction.

To suffocate beneath the feelings of pleasure, surrender to these hands delicately tracing my skin.

The precious rarity of the undeniable chemistry between us awakens me.

In this fleeting bitter sweet rendezvous I no longer feel numb, no longer lay stagnant, no longer walk alone.

And for that, I shall sacrifice the light for even just a taste of being human.

 

 

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