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Want
I bottle up my thoughts and forget them on shelves,
and I'm all but surprised when I dust them off to find they've gone stale.
I wish to do away with the need of want, because that's all I ever do.
Want.
What does it say about me when I'd rather be asleep than awake?
That the writer of my dreams and its ability to take me far away is preferable to reality?
That I'd rather be
-No-
Want to be
anybody else
but
me
and anywhere else
but
here.
Do the fires of you heart melt the reservations of your mind
the same way the inferno of my own sears the flesh of mine?
The only thing stopping me from being the person I deserve is an ingrate drunk on love and high on lust.
How can I live with myself when I see the world in her eyes,
but the stars
in
yours?
I write and I write and the words ring,
but
don't
echo.
Why is all I can ask.
What is all I want to know.
Want is all I do.
Do is what I can't.
I can't do what it takes to be the person I deserve.
I disappoint myself everyday.
Can I force the writer of my dreams to shape my reality?
But the fates prove to be better poets, giving you your name.
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