Loathing and Lust



Perhaps I can

Maybe I cannot

Wishing to make a stand

Nonetheless discovery is lost

On the precipice

I lean into the winds gust

Hearing, fearing the nearness of abyss

Fixed between loathing and lust

Three days straight

With no interruption in sight

Whirled around—unable to break

Isolation will persistently fight

The honorable and the immoral

Tug, release, then tug some more

A constant always-extant turmoil

That has escorted too many through the door

Young love—Young lust

So much hope— Scarcely any trust

About glennalias

Looking...Looking...and trying to find...
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