Done

there's a beat of your heart that's a drum when its gone
when it's went in one ear, and stuck til it's done

there's nothing quite like finishing something completely and utterly
drinking it out of a cup with a straw, licking the plate when no one looks

wanting to get every bit, every morsel, every tiny moment into yourself
so you can consume it, subsume it, tell others of it so you're not alone

cycle going on and on, until like an infection you have to flush the wound
sometimes in that time you realize that the mania is for someone else's pleasure
sometimes you find that you can close this chapter peacefully, and move on
sometimes it sticks, like barbed wire in your heart, cutting when removed leaving holes

there's something about storytelling that walks up and punches you in the gut
to the point where you come back, begging for more, pleading for one last scrap
because you don't know how you're going to react when the curtain call comes
when it is done, and over, and no amount of life is going to take away that first time

and sometimes, that's enough, it hurts but it'sits the good hurt, the cathartic hurt
the hurt that makes you go hug someone you love because if you can't have more story
you'll settle for more life instead, filling the hole in your heart with discussion
keeping its spirit alive, creating new things from old things with your own two hands

because what's the point of something if it doesn't inspire others?
where would you be if someone hadn't inspired you?

so take two big handfuls of sand, and build castles

they will be beautiful