I have drunk the sweet poison of fantasy
it is not
deep or
meaningful or
existential
or maybe it has glimmers
of all those things
I can taste the nectar
from my stomach
and can feel the
fragrance
seeping into my blood and
lulling me into
a dream
my body morphs
into an amorphous dome
devouring my obsession
relishing every morsel of delight
until the edges of my figure
are spread so thin
that I vaporize
into a silvery mist
but what have I become?
everything I searched for
but never really wanted
everything that is beautiful
but not true
I have become ethereal
but not sacred
mystical but
empty