I can’t stop thinking about it, even if I wanted to, this
that keeps me awake at night, this need to release with no place to release it,
these puzzled thoughts that haunt me during these dark hours, when by daylight I
might divert my attention to more mundane things.
I won’t give up these thoughts even when the practical side
of my mind tells me I ought to. There is no happy ending to all this, no easy
resolution, not even the temptation of a temptation I might cling to, a life
preserve of hope, when in fact I still reside on the side of this sinking ship,
and must cling to its illusion of salvation until the inevitable is too clear
to ignore.
I can’t stop thinking about it, about what I wanted it to be
even when I knew it could not be, this spirit floating over me in the dark,
poking me in places where once found pleasure, but now find only pain, the absence
of what I ache for, to be as painful to my anatomy as a hot poker and yet, I
can’t stop thinking about it, and worse, I don’t want to ever stop.
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