The Fatal Illusion

Here comes sufficient intensity.
See the sentiment that becomes something so much more durable.
 
OW NO! This is not a violent motivator
 
You dance like you want to be watched. I dance like I want to be felt.
 
So I see the color of your eyes and beauty is rewritten to mean your eyes.
I want to burrow into your chest
Held in a cocoon that pulses with life and warms me.
 
I discovered what I loved.
I let it consume me.
A love so intense I would rip apart the very heart of this great world, shred its reality into slivers of a former rationality.
My love is a violent butcher of opposition.
Wrung out of all  that made me, I let what I love cling to my being and its weight settle down.
When I exist as nothing it will have devoured my remains.
 
Given the possibilities of all that could destroy me, a lover seems better.

 

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