It’s dull here.
In the now
Why me?
Why must I sacrifice?
A passion . . .my happiness . . .
I have not surrendered.
I will not come willingly.
At least not today . . .
. . . probably not for a long time.
Let me go.
Please.
Can’t you see I’m drowning?
That I am suffering?
That I am unhappy?
Can’t you feel me withdrawing?
It’s a stale kind of feeling.
The body
is present
The soul
is begging
To be released.
This deep yearn . . .
it’s.
Torture.
How can you be so blind?
I want more.
Let me be free.
Let me live.

rebeccanne

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