young obsession

would kill for a

young obsession---

the kind of want

when one cannot free oneself from

the lust, the need, the fantasy

of possessing a certain person

(not just any person)

who will be the

only

that would wholly satisfy &

gratify all that is

needed

in this short, pubic hair of an

irrelevant

existence---

that selfish,

sexual,

completely & utterly

irrational

kind of thing that one can get their

fingers dirty in,

the kind of hot perversion

that came with the rampant chaos of

hormones raging,

the wonder of inexperience,

the absolute longing

that almost hurt---

and there was a sadness every time that

the obsession left one’s presence,

and there was a hope to see them

as soon as possible,

but oh how the butterflies did

congregate and almost

devour one’s insides,

without pause &

without mercy---

the raging animal within

who would not be tamed,

who would not be conned into

thinking that money,

property, success &

security

would instead suffice

as a replacement for this

self-destructive impulse

to bury oneself

deep

deep

deep

inside the warm, wet, nectar

of her,

as if that would somehow solve

everything,

as if the meaninglessness of life might

eclipse in a violently ecstatic

orgasm.

 

smothered by the supposed

obligations of an adult life,

the responsibilities pressed upon &

enforced

with penalty of

finishing out these last hopeless days

toothless & forgotten on the

streets,

the young obsession is no more,

impossible to revisit,

flushed down the wretched toilet of

age &

entropy.