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Eight Horse Vacuum
Swaying on the edge of
Two savage hyperboles
One a ghost pathway,
Brilliant and alone
The other a betrayal of my Self
If it I choose to roam.
This treason of the ego
May bring kith and kin,
A smile on my face,
But not serenity within.
It shall render me the pleasures of the flesh;
Luciferous charm I do possess.
Hidden, yes
But brewing placidly
in lethal excess.
To surge volcanically
when its passion pressed
Violent shuddering
in salacious zest.
Oh!
Beckons to me does
Fingers through my hair
and skins in convergence
Vulnerable and bare.
Lest I trade
My sovereignty for
the chemical romance of a second in spare.
I banish these thoughts:
for all love
is but a love affair
Outlasted only
by solitude in flight
A lonely walk
in the embrace of the night.
The spirit of One in bold ignite.
Pining for connexion with souls not your own
Is but a trait of survival
A trait outgrown.
My time it is to attend the highest peak
Maslow's final tier:
A path of pain and a path alone.
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