Figment Becomes He

January 13, 2011

By: Magnolia

*

Through him my imagination is lit

He exists, in two forms: that which I suppose and that which he is

 

And oh how delicious the idea of him tastes with my eyes wide shut

But yet how bitter the truth seeps down into my gut

 

His hands surround my hips as I use his mouth to rest my lips

And in my dreams he lays

And I am frozen in what seems like a permanent gaze

 

And I cannot shake him from my thoughts

Despite the nails hammered into the cross

 

Riveted then Emotionless

Overcome then Overwhelmed

Devastation and Fascination

I lay here under a spell, cast by my own imagination

 *

 *

 

 

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