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Fragmented Self who wanders through life like a dreamer and wades through the river of dreams as though it were the only truth left in this world
LUST
I feel it gripping at my skin,
attempting to pry it back from my bones.
"SIN" it whispers,
"SIN."
In my head I am ramming against the walls.
I hit and punch and kick.
I cannot get to him this way,
but I do this anyway.
I hit and punch and kick,
but do not get closer.
I desire his touch and attack my own in response.
My hand is not his so I hurt.
My words are not his so I shun.
I cannot summon him here so I shut down.
I ly down and wait.
When will be time to be with him next?

Disclaimer: this poem is the exaggeration of my thoughts and feelings right now. I have not actually hurt myself and by no means do I feel destructive around him or when I think of him. This is merely the extreme way I portray the lust I feel for him.





 
 
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