I burn in the flames of the hell you create.
Yet I'm still wanting more of which that is you.
I beg for it,
plead for it,
yearn for it.
Yet you deny me, refuse me, make my hunger grow.
Your touch, your lips, that smooth skin.
A dream,
a wish,
but a memory.
Perfect those eyes, that look, that stare.
Beautiful to me.
Perfection.
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