Addiction to Chaos

When I was younger sadness came so easily.
I used to speak in poetry!
My heart was a translucent silver ray of sun
severing the blanket sky
and it was jagged,
Dripping.

When I walk across the flames of yet another heartbreak
I do not drip
I do not bleed, instead, I char,
And my feet are now adorned in silken ash.

I am offended by the callouses that cloud the effervescent skin that once incased me.

I miss the metallic taste of an open wound
An unadulterated pop of crimson in my chest.
A red, deeper than the feathers on a robins breast,
And I lust to seep with pain.
Or love or anything but this tepid humid suffocating,
nothing.