The Game
Be careful, I will turn you into poetry... What's it like to be enthralled? To be consumed? To give and receive equally? To float in the sea of longing, thirsty - and to be quenched. All at once, everyday? He is the villain in this story. He is the trickster, the wolf cheating the sheep that he won't eat them, but in the dead of night, he went straight for their throats. He was a stranger, searched you up looking for danger. And you knew that those who love, love to death. Are you dying? What's it like to burn without a flame? To ache with the weight of a hunger that starves you, even as you feast at the idea of 'him?' To press your palms against the ghost of his touch, only to find a cold, cold emptiness? He is the thief who slips in through the crack of your ribs, stealing breath, stealing sleep. When you think of ignoring him- for an hour, a day or perhaps a week- remember baby its no contact for you, but a regular day for him. Why did you have to tie your whol...