Connection Covet (And None for Gretchen Weiners)

Sometimes safety is sneaky.

It lures us falsely, seductively,

securing us into a rise and fall of breath

that is easy.

We see only like-minds with open hearts

and words pulsing and beating with life

from pens that have purged slaughters,

and wars, and laughter,

and tears.

And we are all muddled.

Muddled together and holding hands

to reach the vibrations we seek.

But our connections are false.

They are frayed.

We latch on to like and feed

with mouths gaping open,

hungrily leeching.

And there are some who bleed too much,

who open their veins too wide,

who give too much of themselves

to parasites who are nothing else

but empty.

And they need likened souls.

They need illusion-made twin flames.

They need traumas to match

and pities to be thrown in banks

filled with dirt and mud

and stain.

They are all muddled.

We are all muddled.

Even I

am muddled.

But I never asked for all this.

I lie empty from giving

too much of me to too much

of these ghouls that have taken

hospitality as host.

I will not bleed for you

any longer.

I only bleed for

all of me.