Nothing here.
No survivors.
Wasteland
heart. I am
nobody’s 
favorite
or beloved.
I devour love.
It is never
enough for me.
I am always
hungry. I am
fruitless. My
climate is arid,
inhospitable.
Unsurviable.
I retain nobody.
My heart is
a cupped palm
trying to hold 
onto water.
My heart is
so hot you
cannot breathe
the air inside of it.
You get trapped, 
you starve too.
In my attempts,
I go through many
people. I am
endlessly wanting.
My wanting is the 
end of many.