An Empty Table

I can't find the words... the will and strength have been sapped out of my entire being. I've feasted on myself for so long, dinner plates for scavengers and violators, that I've lost the urge to pull away when they come for me... the willing victim, a predator's delight. I stalk, torture, and murder myself every night... in the name of progress and redemption. The other day, I held something precious in my hands, something real and sincere... unknown before to me, and it altered every fiber of my being. I thought perhaps I had final earned a piece of redemption... I had eaten enough, split enough blood, snot and semen to deserve what other people so easily take for granted. It was there, I know it was... growing inside my chest, like a newborn twisting in it's mother's womb. It was warm and inviting, pure and delicate... it was the most beautiful experience in my life. For a moment, I felt human... I felt real and of value. The spoil returns to turn all goodness in my life to rot... the worms and the dead have no tolerance for forgiveness. I lost it... crushed before my very eyes as the strawberry viscera spewed violently on my new summer dress. It was the most delightful green, like the grasses I would tuck and roll across in the parks of childhood. I felt my back break under the weight of sorrow and loss, my wings were clipped and I returned to the ash. Now all that remains is a pit of despair, a hollow cavity unfit for anything new. It has gone away... retreating into the night to recover from the hands that knew no better. Despite the loss, despite the sorrow... it was a revelation. Although I find myself among the shit, ashes, and ruins... I know it is still out there, and I must find it once more. I know what I have to do now... I just need the feet to stand upon, for mine were eaten long ago.