Obsession

Is beauty something other than what we are?

Ignite me into sparks,

Let me burn into chunks

Our differences,our default

purgatories

Yearning In silence

Affirmation from the other

Wishing we could pour ourselves in to each other

And curve the other

To our hearts desire

Lust and love a thing line almost

Blurred.

Slipping in and out like it’s our

favourite pair of jeans

Not enough words for these big feelings we have

Craving the truth

Addicted to the thrill,

In assumptions and chaos

The former, become a vicious circle

Enslaved by our own mistakes

As our prides pride gloats in victory?

The hurt? Is how we know something was lost

And In absence ,we worshipped at the alter of a silent god. Fear

There is no superb beauty without some sort of strangeness in the proportion

By Edgar Allan Poe.

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