Parasitic Longing

Longing is but a parasite feeding off the stains of our memories,

Toying with our senses like sentimental allergies.

It spreads like cancer, burning our rationality like a wildfire,

Until avoiding the answer is all we desire.

In trying to forget we are only remembering,

Left to punish ourselves until our conscious is trembling.

The only truth in tomorrow is that yesterday won’t be forgotten,

Time moves on ageing the soul until it’s rotten.

Clinging to the familiarity of feelings come and gone,

Afraid to reach forward, grasping at things unknown.

Anchored down by the hand crafted habits we design,

Working to be set free, unable to win because, of the feelings that refuse to resign.

The remembrance of a feeling clouds the judgment of reason,

Absence of what was once obtained brewing a storm of internal treason.

Like a box in the addict the feeling becomes forgotten yet never lost,

Waiting to return like the harsh winters frost.

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nightlight1220's picture

Wow! Deep, and right in my

Wow! Deep, and right in my train of thought. Love this, Nick.

...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."

"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "


nkorinko's picture

Thank you

Thank you

The only problem with the story carved on your chest, is its hard to read when your missing your ribs..