Touched and left for dead. Accepted and luv’d and running from the thoughts in the head. Not many experience the depths of being even opened up. Self agrees with fuck luv. Just to live a different type of life that makes no sense as the loss comes in the form of worth. The deeper the dive the lonelier the cost of the heart fighting to survive the hurt. And anything beyond the break must prove what they can never accomplish. It sucks when self has been tarnished. Alerted by emotion that has no reason to feel what it has. All by the sensation of wanting more than a thought that restrains the endless task. Desires die once passions accepts they’ve been had. Fingertips lie without ever speaking and that’s a fact. Being everything to another in a phase that crumbles into fragments unable to be seen. Like a figment off the imagination that can only drift into a dream. Luv is fake for we only enjoy the way others make self feel. And like magic over time it’s someone else that creates the same type of sensation that eventually fades, claiming to heal…
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