im exhausted by my own self-consumption
im tired of being consumed by my lonesome pities and unfulfilled desires

i want to be consumed by starving ospreys after their long migration north in the burgeoning spring
i want to be consumed by the sun so that its thousand beams pierce me blind
i want to be consumed by a lustful lover with a penchant for my taste
i want to be consumed by echoing mountains that scrape the sky
i want to be consumed by the sickly song of a siren, succumbing to the sea
i want to be consumed by an endless kaleidoscope of colors— a dizzying spectrum of thousands of textures and patterns and shapes
i want to be consumed by the silence of an empty plain
i want to be consumed by the rage of a million anarchists rebelling in the streets
i want to be consumed by a cyclone’s spin my insides hurling out one by one in a spiral
i want to be consumed by a ravenous cult with no regard to my individual
i want to be consumed by the riotous laughter of old friends reunited
i want to be consumed by one thousand snails, disintegrating me slowly with every stride
i want to be consumed by my own hunger, eating myself into nothingness