The Nectar of Bees



has come easier for me now than it was before.


I would have hoped to feel nothing.


To stare up at my ceiling silently, something striking along those lines, but all I feel now is that loneliness seeping into my bones.


It welcomes me, much like one would embrace a decrepit chum, it sits by my side but it doesn’t tell me it will be alright. It helps me fathom my desolation; let’s me know that I’m so afraid of deficiency, yet it’s the only hoax my spirit subjugates me to.


And instead of arms wrapping around me with quiet words of solace –

my gift comes in the form of anguish,

deafening sobs that terrorize me.


The scent of honeysuckle melting away






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