Selfish love. Virtue it's enemy, regret it's playmate and pride it's treacherous ally. Scaldingly hot, yet disturbingly desireable. Can I have what I cannot hold? Satisfy my thirst when I know I'm unquenchable? For what? Till when?
Once, your shoulder was my rest. My weary head now left pained by the need to find it's cradle, my heart, its home. I'd love to pack my wings in your nest but your labour is not for my hearth. I'm still cold. Aimlessly wandering until I find myself by your door. Nonetheless...I know I'd be too afraid to knock because I know it will remain locked.
Circa 2004
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