Insatiable Love

I'm sorry you feel as if though. And I am coming to know your sorrow. Insatiable. Though you may not understand. Over communication or there lack of, sometimes undergoes one of many of which ways relationships will go. And statistically shows, that love, that once naturally bloomed, will one day devolve into seeds for chew. A strong and lingering, and bitter taste that I beg to be slapped out of my mouth. A mouth full of these hopeless seeds, now please. Now only insatiable remnants of my insatiable appetite they are. My insatiable appetite you hear? My senses have been compromised. What kind of rekindling that could ever ensue which would ever make me grow to love the taste? Again it is all too familiar, and what was once as pleasurable as oysters going down the throat, is now too hard to swallow. I do not fear death from starvation. I fear choking to death. Emaciated to decay is no dismay. Insatiable death.