i have knelt before the gods, worshipped man-made steel, and still… nothing. the hunger I feel is the only thing real, a creation from ego i can't conceal.
i whispered for joy. i starved in foreign touch. and love, it appears, is a myth written by strangers in a language i was never taught.
at 24, the insatiable weight of wanting too much, just enough, anything, consumes me at my core.
how i hate this need how i despise its quiet chokehold, its promise bought, its lie retold.
i have begged, but my gods are silent. tell me, who do you pray to? let me change my faith, let me believe with you my metal altars grew cold and violent.
i wonder if this is all there is - tight skin failing heart wandering eyes empty hands a life only capturing what i miss.
am i becoming the thing I loathe? someone who cannot stand their own desire, their thoughts sticky, sweet, strange, sinful a wound that never rests because i itch
but still, I want it. I want it. I want it. i may be drowning in shame, but i want love, even if she speaks my name just to haunt it
i am 24, only. already.
[m<3rc3]
