I misread your poem
About truthing
And pissed you off,
A violent act
As truth-seeking
Always is,
As painful as birth
And sometimes death
Yet satisfying
For those
Who hunger for it,
A potent as love
Or lust
The marrow of
Our bodies
Pumping out
The blood we need
To survive,
We feed off it
Like vampires
Without it
We diminish,
Turn to dust,
This is the truest
Thing I love about you,
Your need to go
Deep to the core
Even if it causes
You pain,
Without it
Life has no meaning,
And we might
Live life numb,
In that limbo
Into which
We relegate
Cats and dogs,
Who fight over
The left over bones
Or the carcasses
Of vermin,
Feeding our bodies
But not our souls,
And I regret
Not seeing this
At first,
Perhaps, I am
Lucky to have seen it at all.
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