Limerence

Inked Thoughts and Midnight Monologues

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The light from the old bulb dies down slowly and in the fading of its iridescence, I find myself drunk in the very idea of your flesh. It’s mine to own and yet, your wings take flight and disappear before my eyes in an instant. You’re a known memoria, like the one Kurt Cobain sings about. Every crevice, every scar and every dream- only if you could see yourself through my eyes. Birthing fantasies at odd hours, I think about the collapse of the universe around me, within me. Everything seems to unhinge itself from the invisible clutches, it’s like a candle melting away softly in the dead of the night. Dissent is our drug and without it, we lose ourselves in the dirt of this existence. The grandeur of your garb leaves me in awe and makes me question the impossibility of it all. Scenarios of sensuality. Nyctophilia. An act…

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