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No hope in getting over,
moving passed
this wretched desire
to own you.

So sorry.
Makes me feel so sick.
If only I couldn’t love
you, perhaps

I could rise
above this biological
trick, if that is indeed
what it is…

Is it all instinct? Your face calms
my hate for everything,
gives me hope.

Such a strong soul
plowing through a life
that seems to just fashion
the rope of your sanity

into a pretty noose
around your neck.

To drown
in the bliss of your lips
once again,

to stare into those eyes,
to delve 
into the blue abyss,

it could save me.
It remains in the wildest dreams.

Missy, how
I fucking miss you.


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