oh how we are hungry

we, or me, i don't know.

i like pushing things, this is what i do. this is how i do it. i don't know why i do, though, and it doesn't really matter.


i wonder what bridges i burn though, and even, if it matters anymore.  i feel more wide and open, but older and more tired at the same time.  but this is ok. and i am hungry.

i don't know what's happened to my words. i've been exhausted, and run dry. emptied out. i keep trying to fill and fill and fill, but is it empty still? i check the levels and oh, oh yes. it is.  again?  or not again. it is hard to see if i am walking in circles.

you always fall in love again.  but i get so tired of it, you know. it leads me on, my carrot slightly out of reach. i am a sucker, emotionally, for that flood, that movement of one soul into the next, blah blah, all words that have little to no meaning, but oh how i like it, you drug you. it's my way of being creative, because i feel like i cannot make anything other than other bodies work. ha, and i fail even, over and over, at the idea of finding that connection. i fail well. i'm hungry.