I am a love addict.

and that may sound romantic
but it’s a torturous hell
and my heart and my life
are an endless, bottomless cavern
that cannot be filled.
Never enough to be quenched, my thirst.

You know, you can’t hold water in your hands
but you try and you try
to form yourself in such a way
to become a vial, yourself
and you’re vile, yourself
but you can’t tell
because all your mirrors are broken
and you can’t see yourself
in the water you’re still trying to contain in your hands –
the ones that couldn’t grasp to begin with
because you think it’s your life force,
your
all that’s left on Earth
and you forget the fountain you strayed from
before you set out on your quest for that unattainable goal
which had you scrambling through mazes and missions and conquests, untenable
and you dropped your key from your back pocket
and it drowned in the water
which slipped through your hands
as you desperately tried to contain it
and friction won’t help
and frantic slits throats
and stupefies –
Losing your head
in the water,
slipping through hands
like time on the shore
and nobody told you
the power was not in the key,
in the water,
it was in you
but you had to let go to find out
and then you find out
there never was water,
just hope
and your hands couldn’t grasp what they never felt
so you’re left empty, forlorn

but there is a fountain

still water,
contained,
the key, floating
and yours
if you choose to look in
and grasp
and say –

I am a love addict
and that may sound romantic
but it’s a torturous hell.

EJZ 09.17.2015

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