Lust in my Heart~

Lust in my Lungs

Those moths in my stomach flutter with an achingly good feeling.
Guilt interrupts with every moment of clarity,
but that sensation overrides conscience.

When a web gathers them together,
and I am left empty,
the pangs of truth hurt my pride,
I opened that door,
but the key won’t lock it back.

The dust in my lungs makes my breathing and movement stumble in the air around.
Each look I give pangs the heart of another.
No vacuum or feathered stick can relieve their suffering.
My pride no longer matters,
because I’m coughing up my own spirit.

A clog in my seal’s drain;
hair, bags and cocoons from all those betrayals.
Even if I swallowed that sinful concept,
it would not serve to cleanse me.

Even if I broke all ties, and started anew,
those thoughts from the world would keep those dead moths preserved.

  ©Patrick Attaway 2012

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