I don’t think it is,
but it clearly is an addiction
I need to escape,
so I can get on with my life,
not love so much as need, I think,
or maybe a bit of both
that make up a bitter brew
of my own making,
wanting what I can’t have,
should not have,
and will never have,
fearful she might end my existence
with a snap of her fingers,
while more than a little disappointed
when I show up where we both work
and she’s not there,
still aching for a glimpse of her
in this pool of madness,
the way mere mortals did
of ancient gods,
knowing that to look too directly
in their direction is to invite madness.
Is it any wonder Oedipus
put out his own eyes,
through even in blindness
he still saw the thing that horrified him most,
and that which he desired most,
since both are the same.
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