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Itch of Anima.

How you itch to possess another,
to enchant me like before,
bait and hook to reel me in,
just to throw me back overboard.

You’re rising out of the ashes once again,
not a phoenix but a buzzard reborn.
Not a tall glass of water, but a stiff drink,
a shot without a chaser, the pretty bullet that left a bleeding hole.

You became death, I promised for the last time,
then your corpse cast a shadow that survived
A looming poltergeist an old soul can’t shoo away.
I’m an addict to the bone, you‘re the drug I can’t escape.

Running through my mind with broken glass for soles,
leaving a path of shredded dreams, disemboweling hope.
Dig six feet up, born out of soil once more,
echo my regrets to me, a fucking melody that I
dance in time to every day of my empty life.

So you rise out of the ashes again,
albeit in phantom form,
haunting me through little signs
that trigger slashes and strikes
of recollection.

Dragging me down
to the most primal needs,
an animal is awakening, fueled my lust
And this strange need for something more:
the most potent aphrodisiac
instinct has in store.

How I know you itch for another masque,
to play with me like before,
lour me inside with hypnotic eyes
just to kick me back out the door.

No.

I won’t be left bleeding alone,
caked with dirt in a ditch this time.
I’m on fire, but I’ll rise out of the soot
a whole soul that glows libertine, lighting
his own way along his path on his own two feet,
fighting shadows alone on into the night.

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