He hoards not objects,
not physical implements
but emotions,
he caresses them,
they express their feelings
heard and meant.
He greedily
takes these from others,
swipe, snatch, grab,
one hand carries the contents of
another’s heavy heart,
another carries pain and loathing
in the other hand
which seems it shan’t ever depart.
Into a precious round
glass bowl he places
extracted stolen feelings
watching them swirl;
it gives him a mildly pleased feeling
as though he’s appeased
his internal sufferings
by borrowing –
that’s what he calls it –
emotions which he will supervise
until the morning.
Because he only needs
access to these
for a night and a day,
it is his means of survival,
his nutritional content,
shall we say?
He feeds off other’s expressions
because truly, he cannot
forgive nor accept his own transgressions.
He needs to heal himself
with the emotions of others
as though patchwork sewn,
slapped on,
to disguise the
holes within his cloudy aura.
He is tainted by prior actions,
and he repairs himself
temporarily with that
which is stolen,
it’s enough to please him
until the coming of morning.
And then he will
hunt and hoard again,
applying that to whichever part of himself
is sadly and ostensibly broken.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Joseph Frank on Unsplash
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