it begins...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
hmmm

Submitted: July 15, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 15, 2008

A A A

A A A


Days, weeks, months

fade into cycles of wanting -

of nothingness.

It is this that feeds me,

spurs me on to greater - -

failure.

You are a sweet illusion

And I, a moth

helplessly drawn to your - -

eyes.

It is your eyes that fuel me,

make me want for more

nothingness, realness.

Bite me, kick me, scratch me,

make me bleed salty tears.

they are not mine to give,

yet you extract them from my veins.

Pulling first one single drop

then - -

a mouth full,

a glass full,

toast to us,

as you drink my essence, my sorrow,

my - -

love.


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