It uses people.
It pushes, pulls and
pulverizes reason.
Rarely silent, but
never loud.
Wakes your restless
mind from dreamless sleep.
It never waits as
your mind wanes.
Always wanting
wishful words for a world
Much better than the
dreary demise you dread.
Haunting
heartlessly.
But you bask,
blinded by the binding
Clutches of that
which you desire most.
You mostly want her.
Her sweet yet silent
soul.
You'll find your
fleeting freedom
In her soft and
daring eyes.
Finally fighting
fiercely,
Because she matters
now.
But love it does yet
bind you.
It's harming
helpless hearts
Like yours.
Without recognizable respect.
Flying, floating,
fleeing
From the truth you
now know.
She's made her
memory--
an imprint on your
once sanguine soul
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