Morbid.

‚ÄčI'm sitting again in this broken ride, Travelling distances vast and slow, Adjoining pieces from a soulful scatter, Setting places up,  Bringing fields to vision, When there are ruthless knives That strike inside. When there are scars still fresh, Wounds that still bleed. When there are questions too deep, Resting in voids And reasons too …

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Trapped between expectation and desire.

I'm trapped inside this endless darkness, this four walled prison yet you cannot cage the passion, the avidity that flows through my bones, for it is a part of me, for it is unstoppable. You tell me to "shut up", to "seal this filthy mouth of mine" and your brutal words are enough to shatter …