n. (Greek mythology) Food of the gods

Tongue peaks with your eyes on me,

Slow and steady,

Hungry.

I ask, 'What do you see?'

'Not beauty, immortality.'

Ah, so you've heard the stories,

The long life of Hercules,

The growing apple trees,

The myths of Achilles,

The food of the deities.

Oh, but what about Tantalus?

Thrown out of Olympus,

Punished for his hubris,

An eternity of hollowness,

But not in Tartarus.

The same fate you will suffer,

Your face doesn't drain of colour,

Not afraid of your heartbroken lover?

Or are you more frightened of another?

No matter, I will have my closure.

Is it a fault of mine

To be born better than food and wine?

Maybe it's a sign,

For me to draw the line.

A line between what's beautiful and divine.

Thus, let your eyes devour,

Before you cower.

I'm not a flower.

I am Ambrosia,

And you may not taste my power.

Bedhead hair,

A sleepy voice,

And droopy eyes.

Oblivion, you seek.

Temporary relief,

In me and my body.

I can see as you fall asleep,

You do not truly love me.

Here I lay,

Overthinking,

As he pulls you into his arms.

He kisses your head,

Your cheeks

Your hands,

He whispers sweet nothings into your ears,

Looking into your eyes,

Fingers intertwined.

A chill in your bones,

A warmth in your spine.

A prickle at your skin.

He was everything,

And you were the girl who had everything.

Don't ask me to stay,

Don't ask that much of me.

It's so hard to hold on,

Hard to let go.

Thus,

I must hover somewhere in between.

Where you cannot reach me,

And I cannot reach you.

It's just what I do.

When life hurts,

I pull away.

And I cannot bear letting go,

So I wait.

I don't know what for,

But I'm waiting.

Waiting

Always waiting for something.

Don't ask me to stay,

Because you probably think you mean more to me than you actually do.

And I cannot bear breaking another soul.

For broken souls,

They're always lingering and hovering on the edge of life

Yet, not quite death.

I look around,

My room's a mess.

But then again,

So is my head,

No matter the mess that is my heart,

It's cold as ice,

Hard as stone.

Bulletproof.

A mess, nonetheless.

I don't even feel safe in my head.

You see,

When night comes

And the darkness seeps in,

I close my eyes

And let sleep lay it's claim.

Through the long hours of the night,

My demons creep into my dreams,

Holding me down in a choke hold.

I break free,

I stumble away.

From room to room,

Looking for refuge,

But they catch up,

And they find me.

Choking,

Choking,

Choking.

'LET ME BREATHE,'

I try to yell,

No matter how futile are my attempts.

The most frightening thing

Is that this happens every night.

If you were death,

it would explain so much.

Your presence sucks away all the happiness.

Emptiness wherever you go,

because you take,

and take,

and take,

until there is nothing left,

but you,

your darkness,

and your abyss of loneliness.

I have problems. Maybe normal problems that people face every day, or maybe they're problems in my head. Things that only I go through. Things that made me close myself off and hide. I hid for a long time, pushed everyone away because I was afraid of loving again. Or maybe it was afraid of loving and not being loved back. I don't know, honestly. But I hid from everyone, I stopped writing and I tortured myself by doing so.

I don't have that problem anymore. I still have urges. I still want to hurt myself in the worst ways possible. Sometimes, I want to give myself something and rip it away from myself just so I can feel a hole grow in my chest where the love for this thing festered. Then again, somedays, there is nothing to give—nothing to write. I feel like all of the pain may have exhausted the love out of me and the only thing I can give myself is the broken version of love.

So that was my problem. I closed myself off and let no one in. Now, I feel like my problem is the opposite. Like no matter how wide the door frame is, there is no one to let in. No one wants to come in. Maybe I did this to myself, after all, I made myself the way I am. Alone and lonely.

A complete and utter stranger made me smile for a few days. Does that make me pathetic? That I'm searching for you—pieces of you in every person I meet—No, not pieces of you, pieces of the way you made me feel, the smiles you made me smile and the tears you made me shed. For without you, I'm numb.

I need to feel something, some how, but I haven't an idea how. That is why I'm searching for pieces of the way you made me feel, because I know I'll never find the whole thing.

So, thank you, Stranger. You gave me something, you made me feel something I haven't felt in a long time. Contentment. Maybe even happiness. And for that, I will forever be grateful.

The more I age,

The more my sage.

But, what a lonely cage,

A fuel for my rage.

Kindness comes with reluctance,

Niceness comes with force and stance.

Am I in a trance?

Because anger wont give me a chance.

I need my life,

I don't want to be a trophy wife.

Don't cut me with your knife,

My love is not a rife.

My love is only yours,

There is no need for wars.

Large cores,

And slammed doors.