"Slayer"

Blog 350:

Baffling urge for hunt calls
Fed by cymbal-like clanging
It sounds loudly, yet hollow
It gnaws into the psyche
It pumps the heart
It spawns adrenalin rush
 
Flea Market thrill hunt
For hope of one rare find
Is that quick trip
Much like heroin lust
When craving thuds …
There’s point of no return
 
Once willfully ingested
It serves that fleeting high desired
Only to later dizzily awaken …
And realize one has gone nowhere
But right back where impulse began
And dollars&cents flat broke
 
Mindless addiction
For any fading thing
At Flea Market bargain stands
Is just what it is …
Transitory …
Wasteful …
Energy murderer …
Time butcher!