Consumption & Other Vices of the Flesh
I have experimented with various forms of hunger in the past several years— for love, for connection, for success, for fulfillment, for retribution, for flesh, for more. In my series of compositions, Consumption & Other Vices of The Flesh, I explore these themes of innate desire and the search for satisfaction, frequently returning to imagery of the body and its transformation by mutilation, decomposition, or other, to depict and dissect different kinds of hunger.
As a step to develop more confidence in my writing, I have shared some of my favorite pieces with you, here.
<3
Man Eater
My hunger is a fever, longing still
For that which no longer satiates.
Deprived of sight, touch, sound,
Only its fervent swarming remains.
Hair back, eyes blind, hands bound,
A wet, pungent scent engulfs me.
My tongue inviting the pleasure in,
I chew, bite, swallow, choke, gag,
Savor the taste of another person,
The gaminess of still-warm, raw meat,
Of flesh and fodder becoming one
Slick, sanguine mess.
In the emptiness of this need,
My body demands another to feed.
Realenga
Since then, I eat more hastily than before, as a starved animal devours its most recent kill, and yet I can never satiate this newfound hunger. Since then, I slither and stalk restlessly place to place in precise, calculated movements, with piercing eyes that never stray from your neck. Since then, my hands— cold, aching, claw-like— inflict furious welts on your skin from touch as gentle as I am capable.
Bright colors and poisonous words warned you of the danger I pose— a precaution you throw to the wind. You’re as vulnerable as you are stupidly brave, as passionate, as tender, and as human as I long to be. But you don’t feed a wild animal without eventually paying the price: it doesn’t leave. It won’t leave. I come back. My mouth salivates and my eyes water, fighting a losing battle against an unrelenting hunger you awoke in me.
Your kindness is carelessness– do you know it’s what makes you my prey?
I’m different now. Worse. Predatory. I crave viciously and desperately for something you naively let me taste. If I yearn, if I need, if I desire— if I crave!— for more than you can surrender, I’ll consume you whole.
I’ll sink my sharpened teeth into the hand that feeds, and savor as it bleeds.
feral, viscous– sweet
a hunger akin to love
devouring you whole
Pragmatism
My fragile, immature bones could never withstand the cold
As prepubescent limbs in pain, desperate for soothing.
I found it in a visceral discomfort: the solace of knowing
Meaning is lost in a timeless euphemism for growing old.
These lukewarm days I grieve for afflictions only foretold
An ache so dull and intrinsic – the hallmark of becoming.
The morning haze on an unkempt bed, hot tears encrusting
Hands itching for something to harm, someone to hold.
This perennial aching of mine — perpetual growing pains.
An unkind maturity consumes me, gnaws at my insides,
But the sun still rises, my bitter heart still beats.
I wipe my eyes, wash my sheets, keep my anger restrained.
Mourning the loss of my childhood must suffice,
As my innocence, my escapism, become obsolete.
(interlude)
in the balmy meadow,
the flowers will make a home
of my putrefaction.
weeds will be the first to thrive,
sinking their stringy roots inside,
stripping any remnants of my agency.
blades of grass, snug between my toes,
dandelions shrouding my body in fuzz,
hiding the first signs of decay.
the bees will swarm my cadaver,
those nectar-hungry vultures,
and the rays of a dying sun will catch
in my honey-glazed eyes.
flor de maga tangled in my hair,
helianthus turning to the sunlight on my face,
wisteria crawling through me, embracing my bones
thorned roses protecting my heart in the afterlife.
when you tiptoe between the blossoms,
sprouting through
the crevices of my corpse,
i ask you to be kind
to what remains of me.
and before you pluck the flowers,
hum my favorite melody,
inhale,
kiss my rotting hands.
buried in the pasture,
my flesh feeds the soil.
