shame sucker

Shame erases a carcass of heart, soul and cliche that blend so perfectly, so balanced, so at one with the now, that everything drops from sight but the one so steadily wanting, so inherently errant in aberrant need that longingly, lovingly, lingeringly, yet somehow abhorrently sucks its cling to me in a desperate disparity that folds onto itself in a steaming, shifting, sand-like vacuum that peels back fur, hair and skin in a spastic search for a slab of succulent newness only to find a clean-shaven pick-axe drawing blood from a concrete vine of fire and tangled dreams.