The Pugilist

gousse:

i could eat you

for breakfast, my love.

poured into me

wide open mouth

and you

but whet me, my appetite.

the candy of you.

and

my snaking tongue around  sugar jewel.

poured into my white porcelain bowl

in the morning

i love you

my saccharine darling -

you’ll kill me one day

this i know.

but until then—-

love

a heart attack

romance

tooth decay

pain that stabs and

ceases

inter

mit

tent

ly

like skinny fingers deep.

I’m a grotesque being…

That takes more than it could ever give.

I should be locked up…

Stashed away in a perfectly concealed place…

Isolated from the rest of the universe…

Loving no one but me,

Grudging humanity.

Constrained and contained

In my self-absorption…

My apparent happiness,

My gain,

My misery.

defraying around the edges
inching its way to the core
deteriorating each and every part
pounding, grinding, crumbling
the very little which remained

there is nothing left

everything’s shattered and torn
disintegrated and pulled apart
dissected but empty
nothing, no remnants
no bits and pieces to pick up
and make whole again