Glutton For The Hole
It is not about taste, never was
it is about the hole that opened in my gut when I was too young to call what was missing from the air
I started filling it with everything I could grab before I understood it would never care
Food, bodies, work, screens, sound
anything that kept me from hearing the empty hum in my chest
I became a walking landfill with a heartbeat
calling this hungry pit “doing my best.”
You tell me to stop while you shovel your own flavor of poison down your willing throat
Your addiction just happens to photograph better
fits in a cleaner quote, I take mine messy, loud
obvious
a heap of wrappers and broken morals on the floor by my bed
You hide yours in quiet little habits that gnaw your brain and hollow your dread.
We all feed a hole
I just stopped pretending mine is small
You hide yours in silence, I display mine in the fall.
I am a glutton for the hole, not the treat, not the hit
All I want is to drown that void till it spits
If I die under a mountain of everything I grabbed to feel whole for ten minutes straight
At least I did not leave this world politely starving at the gate.
I have tried fasting, tried clean living
tried cutting out every sugar
every hit of false light till my hands shook and my brain screamed
All it did was make the hole louder, teeth bigger
dreams more mean and unclean
It is not that I do not see the cliff I am sprinting toward with arms full of junk I refuse to drop
It is that the thought of going back to emptiness is worse than the fall on rock.
Call it sin, call it weakness
call it self-slaughter wrapped in candy and sweat
You are right, every label fits
every warning you ever set
But when your judgment day comes and they ask what you did with the time you had to feel
You will say you stayed neat
I will say I devoured everything real.
I am a glutton for the hole, not the treat, not the hit
All I want is to drown that void till it spits
If I die under a mountain of everything I grabbed to feel whole for ten minutes straight
At least I did not leave this world politely starving at the gate.
If there is a tally kept somewhere of every bite
every body, every thrill I shoved into that endless pit
It will be long, It will be ugly
And I will still sign it.