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he is everything
and i am something nice
to have whenever he’s got spare time.
he is the orbit and all of the above,
i am the forgotten shoe
decayed and aged
and i feel like i’m in his orbit
tumbling and turning
motion always around him
closer further closer further
and (i know) it’s wrong to feel lucky
when i get him for just a small moment
because shouldn’t he want that moment as much as i do?
it’s wrong to feel empty and
cold without him
because doesn’t that mean he makes up my wholeness?
doesn’t that mean i am lost?
i am nothing?
that i never really knew myself in the first place.
those moments are poison.
they bleed and blister
and burn and burn
and i can’t find a way to end this violent cycle
obliterating me from
because those moments are heaven
and they’re the only place i ever want to be
and the only place i need
when nothing else matters
and nothing else is real
nothing but his lips on my neck
and my hand on his cheek
and the heat
and the burn
and the want
is what i crave.
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