Ravenous

Fun is subjective.

Some people can watch willows grow

for hours

and hours.

But I cannot.

.

For me,

fun is a little more risqué

I like to watch people

spill their secrets.

I could do it

for hours and hours.

.

Like a secret agent,

I love to interrogate.

I’m always on the prowl

for new information

to guzzle.

.

Good tidings

are a nice crisp crunch,

but they don’t really cut it.

If you really want my rapt

undivided

attention

bring me tragedy.

.

The woes and harms

that occur,

they aren’t ever

ToO mUCH.

The more,

the MerriEr.

I relish in it.

It’s the butter for my infernal bread.

Infernal bread.

.

When it gets to toasty,

when I’m in the hot seat,

it’s not any d i f f e r e n t.

Gossip about myself,

pours sonorous,

but not everyone

has my thirsty ears.

.

If I could get a mirror

or make a <–Time–> paradox

and give myself

my own undivided attention,

that would probably be sufficient.

Maybe my own gossip

would be so satisfying

to the alter me,

I would be sated.

But I doubt it/

One thought on “Ravenous

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