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I remember the first time I ********** I thought I was having a seizure- or that I had somehow malfunctioned the Matrix and had broken through a fold of reality; some white-noise ladder to greater plains, throbbing, animal convulsions, and a peak that only death could overpower. I remember crashing into shame upon my return, versus the smug welcome of oxytocin and my adult life; not knowing to what extent my ***** would dominate my mind; you know, I cannot write a poem without noticing my loneliness, all the ******** I have left behind. For that moment, in my New Found ****** I was paralysed at the thought of a sober life, and ever since that moment, ever since that night, I have been searching for those higher plains in the lowest branches of myself. Now I smoke my fill and redden my eyes to bleed out old anxieties, dry up old tears whilst softening scars that I have collected over years spent indoors, hiding from danger. I remember the first time I ********** how it came to me by accident, a repeated motion of unknown emotions; the undulations in her breath; even now I still sit by myself, and make love out of whatever is left.
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Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
My First ****
I remember the first time I ********** I thought I was having a seizure- or that I had somehow malfunctioned the Matrix and had broken through a fold of reality; some white-noise ladder to greater plains, throbbing, animal convulsions, and a peak that only death could overpower. I remember crashing into shame upon my return, versus the smug welcome of oxytocin and my adult life; not knowing to what extent my ***** would dominate my mind; you know, I cannot write a poem without noticing my loneliness, all the ******** I have left behind. For that moment, in my New Found ****** I was paralysed at the thought of a sober life, and ever since that moment, ever since that night, I have been searching for those higher plains in the lowest branches of myself. Now I smoke my fill and redden my eyes to bleed out old anxieties, dry up old tears whilst softening scars that I have collected over years spent indoors, hiding from danger. I remember the first time I ********** how it came to me by accident, a repeated motion of unknown emotions; the undulations in her breath; even now I still sit by myself, and make love out of whatever is left.
Edward-Coles
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26/M/English
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
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