I aspired to be good, better.
For you. I slept with the devil,
ate with the angels, saw myself
burn in a pyre of tongues
stretching from the ground-up.
I drunk the wine and quenched
the thirst deep in my throat.
I felt the red water flowing
down my pipe but I still gulped
for more, for more that never
came. I wiped my tears and still
my eyes bled from the sword,
at my back, pierced deep and
coiling; lashing my skin open for
the vultures flying above my head.
I saw us veiled under a blanket,
the moon’s soft white light,
but something inside me gnawed
its claws out, ripping the thin
sheet of my skin open with the
need to know: was I not good?
J. G. Elas is a writer and online content contributor and has authored an autobiographical book that narrates the life of an INFP in his early twenties. He blogs based on experiences and would highlight the fragility and tentativeness of some of the relationships he’s been in to.