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Sometimes the memories
are so raw,
so visceral,
that I claw for breath
and want to run
and scream
and I wonder
if this is how it feels
to die or
to lose part
of your very own soul.
Some melody
or shaft of sunlight
or word
sends me spinning
down some hole
into the pit of nostalgia
so rending
that I can see
shards of myself
falling to the floor.
It’s in these moments
where I need you,
your words or
your voice.
And the worst part is
that you are lost to me.
I peer down a dark tunnel
into the abyss of wanting.
I can’t breathe
or sleep
or move
without my heart
because the want of you
consumes me,
the heap of ashes that I am,
and ignites me
into a fire that burns so hotly
I am surprised the world
has not been
charred to dust.


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