As in, I always like ego rubs, but please actually criticize it.
Silent. Observant.
Overanalyzing and dissecting my soul,
wondering everything,
knowing nothing,
despite this desperate desire to perceive,
Despite this desperate will to decipher.
I contemplate my disability,
obscurity that continues to the depths,
Indefinite lengths to never be fathomed,
Which I know in my heart may never be plumbed,
Despite how I long,
Despite my cry,
Forlorn in the wind,
Flits like sand in the breeze,
swirls like hollowed butterflies,
Waves like silken sleeves,
Whispering like a broken heart
as her lover leaves.
And the moon smiles down upon my grief,
Diana grins upon my huddled, lonesome back.
And the wolves croon the song I no can longer continue,
My voice is too hoarse with the singing,
My quaking lips utter their dumb noise,
the musical light of the waning crescent lilts upon my cheeks,
my soul spills unbidden diamonds upon my cheeks,
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