Digesting Affection

I swallow my secrets, sharp little shards of the bizarre that would gossip of my weaknesses if allowed to converse with the light. One by one, they scratch along a cervical bridge between my heart and mind before being accumulated in a churning pit of reason and conscience that constantly folds self into self and manipulates the flavors of my life. I never intended to invite you into my sacred archipelagos, I meant to sample the sweetness of your flattery, the ambrosia of the forbidden and metabolize your motives later but you defy my volcano and oxidize in my stomach an embryonic gallstone feeding on the amniotic bile that disintegrates my most caustic emotions. You could extinguish my hunger; the lightless, empty craving for content-edness and alleviate the peptic erosion of my islands by accepting their idiosyncrasies. But I fear you will overfill me, nauseate me with your revolutionary rites and that I will regurgitate the occult within. Yet, I can't suppress the craving for more crumbs of your affection.