Grapes

My internal consciousness has always felt like grapes
Like green grapes. It's not really sensible but let me try to explain myself.
It's like this weight, this feeling (physical and emotional).
A kind that laces up everything I am without me fully knowing it.
Like quivering milk forming at my mother's breast, infant naivety of the concept of being.
Only in moments do I feel the fullness of life.
It's like being lightheaded all the time
Always on the verge of fainting because life is so full and so empty all at once
Full like grapes plump and weighty, filled by the hand of God by living water
But so eerily drained dried and shriveled like my mother's breast
Still full despite me.
But with grapes, push on either side and the juices free flowing
Splatters out like a savage cry silenced by the amount of space surrounding it
This is how I feel
Leaving cracks and pockets of watery sweetness to drip and to drip
Grapes, graciously drained and turned into booze to make a heart beat slightly stronger
Life seem a bit wider and longer
I am full and empty all at once.
Borrowed full, full empty.
Experiencing the world thoroughly
Touch, emotion, interlocking and informing one another
Molding the other, building my conscious full of grapes.
Full, empty;
A bushel, barren twigs
Sticking between lacing fingertips
Putting a hand through a naked grapes vine is like putting a hand to my heart
It's all spindled and spun; empty and borrowed
Full to the brim like Styrofoam cups
Steaming and teaming with watered down life
Sweet life and borrowed time from tits  

Drink Me

I am like a drink;      I would like a drink
Sometimes bubbly;      I hate fizzy people
Perhaps sweet;      People are so sticky
Maybe bitter and dark;      That'sMoreLikeIt
But always, always laced;      Poisoned vein for vein
Layered with toxins that collide with me;    
Become a part of me       Part me from me
I am like a drink       And I am drowning