Feast

Divided between sense and nonsense- each takes its share
Mixed amounts of love and dissonance,
Comfort and despair.

I found this lovely little girl, who made art and music
And loved these strange men.
Sometimes shiny, sometimes pretty, sometimes wild.

Having parted ways with sense, and having lost her music
And her heart having uncoiled like a wyrm,
Travelling through body and soul,
Sometimes feeding,
She left.

Similar creatures find each other,
Like spiders sometimes build webs collaboratively.
But sometimes wyrms are just glad
To have flesh to feed on,
And darkness to keep themselves moist.