feed

Someone's worst day ever,

then a jingle,

then a stranger's holiday,

then the flood.

I said one more minute.

That was hours of me ago.

Feed me the flood —

I open wide.

A burial, an advert,

somebody's wedding dance.

It knows the second that I flinch.

It learned I stay for hurt.

My thumb moves on its own now,

a twitch that calls itself a choice.

Feed, and I say when —

I never do.

I refresh the wound to watch it fill.

I came to see the world.

I stayed inside the drowning.

My eyes sting.

I hold them open.

Some day it will show me

the thing I won't recover from,

and I would hate to miss it.

Feed me the flood —

it feeds on me for free.

We feed on one another now

until the flood is all of us.