Empty
Empty
One step,
A singular tread,
And the very impression is
That I have aught need for
Or even should feel desire
For anything.
But no one,
Not even those closest to it,
Can comprehend
An inverted wish
Against these expectations.
The yearning for a taste
Reach deep down,
Ever so deeply
Inside these surging, waisted,
Intuitive lusts
For one whom nobody knows
Save their existence.
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