The Nature of It
There’s a lash implanted in deep
Bound to the nature that drives me
It’s not the scourge itself that stings the most,
it’s the knowledge of why the flicks fall
Knowing the satiety of extinct flesh
Knowing the saccharinity of bygone honor:
The honor of being the only exception
And knowing the omnipresent void they leave behind
Now I only know hunger
There’s martyrdom in surrendering to the abject draw of the scourge
There’s Christ-like pain in adoration beyond station and beyond forethought
I’ve been marred, somehow without death and without cure
Left to live a life afflicted by the idea there’s more I’ll never be
I know the loss more familiarly than the lash
So, when the taste of loss still lingers on my lips,
you have to understand the nature of it
Copyright © Lauren Smith | Year Posted 2024
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