furi.blog

there is a dark chasm inside of my chest 
it seems bottomless; but surely, 
that cannot be. 

you see, day and night, 
I hear the wails of a monster 
who lies deep within this abyss, 
a wounded animal? 
a feral child. 
I know her: 
she is me. 

what could I possibly offer this poor beast? 
a creature born of sorrow; 
grieving what was, 
is, 
and what could never be. 

I grieve with her. 

I cannot rest, and neither can she. 
I have been feeding her; 
tearing away pieces of my flesh and soul, 
offering them, 
to soothe her for a moment of tranquility, 

there is no use; peace is still foreign to me. 

I would like to be whole someday, 
but all I feel 
is the hole in my chest, 
and it is consuming me.