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It is Desire

Haunted eyes,

Silhouettes burned into vision.

reflect the haunter within the haunted.

There she is,

Lying, miserable, defenseless.

Can she see me this time?

It wonders, for wonder is the reason it was birthed.

Wonder, and curiosity.

About the beyond.

She often calls upon It,

Unwilling, unknowing, but certain.

Refrain doesn't come easy,

To those consumed with desire.

Is desire always monstrous?

For it oft births monstrosity.

It knows no realm,

Dimensions are a mere slight of vision.

For if there was vision,

It wouldn't exist.

But here she's called It again,

Slave to her own self.

What desires does she hold within her?

Unrequited, destined to survive without respite.

What then is a desire's respite?

Is it the union with the object of its undying loyalty?

Or is it the demise of itself?

Or maybe, the certainty of demise.

She's closer now,

Her mind travels faster than her steps.

Her thoughts multiply,

Desire breeds forth its legacy.

It is almost physical now.

Feeding off the power she holds within.

Feeble now, as it ebbs away to It.

Is It a slight of the unyielding shadows?

For she perceives a glimpse of the beyond.

Infernal delight, mars her face!

And she stares,


As is truth, so shall truth be.

Desire, when within reach, oft gives to fear.

Misgivings of desire birth only when mature.

And suddenly, she's apprehensive.

Unsure of herself, but beyond power now;

For power lies with It.

It is closer,

Now in the physical realm claimed by humans.

It can see itself,

A shadow on a sea of black.

The center of the sea merging with its core.

Clearly reaching out, in the window to the soul.


She screams,

But voice escapes this realm where she's in now.

Eyes seek a shield,

But hands refuse.

Tied to the body,

Perverse desire

Opens windows that can never be closed again.

And caught between the mirror and herself,

Powerless, frail;

She succumbs to desire.

It has claimed her soul now;

Living on,

With or without her.

To be released only with their demise.

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