Late Night Writing

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late night writing, at my wits end thinking, all thoughts lead to you as i write about love and emptiness…how this feeling feels and makes me helpless…how does it feel to feel reckless? maybe i should ask someone who knows me better than myself, maybe i should look into the mirror and ask thyself…does it matter if my matter resists? of all people, i chose you for my happiness…how does it feel, this feeling of restlessness? love is a windstorm and i am the debris…flying around like flocking birds to a tree…how does it feel, the knowing you have me? wrapped so tightly, your circulation depleting…i can’t destroy you, my helpless fool…i love you, like my writing, you’re my therapy…a therapeutic release, like sex on a high…like the moonlight on a hot summer’s night…an insomniac with a niche for sanity…with my late night writing, i’m at my wits end thinking…with all thoughts leading back to you…they will always lead back to you…

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