boring
The Intense sensation of nothing.
Inexplicable lack thereof.
Overstimulation is a fantasy
Which won’t come until
I’m done with doing what this abyss
has done to me, and yet
it continues.
Ailing Love
Did I wake thee, precious Angel?
Slumber now and rest thine head,
whilst I look upon thine face,
Lie and grace this bed.
Close thine eyes of sapphire.
Save them for the morn.
Where i'll be a waitin'
Pray don't leave me here forlorn.
Still. Lie there motionless
in that nat'ral state.
Restin' and a waitin'
till the Sun shall fall by fate.
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