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I read it and I feel like the words are being directly written to me. Selfish and obscure, you are stalking me and writing about me and you seem to know everything. You are far away and you seem like I cannot quite reach you but you are writing to me. I know this. I feel your breath on my neck and I can listen to your voice in my head. You are writing directly to me, pulling out everything within me and you are standing in the room with me and you know me. Oh so well, you know me and I can’t tell you to stop. Your poetry stands out on the page like it’s a 3-D movie, beautiful and strange and wonderful. I don’t know how this works. I want to know you too. Let me in, let me in. I want to get to know you. Honestly. I want to know everything about you and you and you and you and your words hold me and make me think and I cannot get enough. Your desires are mine. Your hopes and your dreams and your sorrows. We share them all. Even though I hate sharing, I don’t mind sharing with you.

  1. vintagesky posted this