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Pessimists, sadists of yesteryear…

September 8, 2011

Pessimists, sadists of yesteryear prowl the dark, pushing it aside and peering into our faces. Knowing, waiting for a gleam of weakness so that it can leak in and fill us with its dread. I am behest with angst at the fear of losing you. I grip on, tendons unafraid of being ripped apart. Hold on fast as the chasm pours itself into the abyss and whispers its growing pit into my stomach, into my gut, flooding my heart.

Fear hangs naked, quivering with want.

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