Knock knock.
Who's there?
You know.
You know who?
Exactly,
AVADA KEDAVRA


And this, my people, is how James Potter died

I dont think I'll ever recover from the love we had. I'm the one who dropped the vase and watched all of the porcelain shatter all amongst the floor, spreading into every corner of the room. I knew it was nearly impossible to walk without cutting yourself on the glass and that's why you had to leave, that's why we both had to leave. I've swept the floor about a thousand times now. I still watch for you at the doorway, I've written letters that never have been read, I cleanch my pillow at night and sometimes still dream of the smell of your hair in the bed next to me. I know there will never ever be a place for us again but you haunt me like a ghost. I wish I could see a glimpse of you pass me just one more time.

this is not a ten stepper essay.  You are, and you admit it, full stop. Addicted to HP.  No help here.

but to answer the question...

the writing of a poem,
no matter what your style,
eye dropper word selection,
slow methodical,
or furious expelling, frying oil
until crescendo is achieved
is clearly a fulfillment of
a ****** type of need.

Afterwards,
after words,
when you repeatedly
check the number of likes,
it is just you asking me

was it as good for you
as it was for me?

Usually, eventually,
the answer is a
quiet, soft spoken,
very few reads version of:

"Uh, just let me sleep"
which means you will try again
in the the morning suncomeforth.

Take me to the world of poetry
Where the syllables are colourful as flowers
The rhyme flows like a river
The message sheds light like the Sun
The metaphorical expressions send shivers down my spine

As I journey through the stanzas,
I wanna smell the sweet fragrance of its words
Dive into its lake of deep emotions
Ride through its different terrains and styles
Enwrap me in its poetic layers
Take me to the world of poetry
I was told I will never want to leave