Desire for
Abandoned places.
Irresistible longing
For fading traces.
Fantasy that
Grows for the
Falling moons.
The pull I feel
Towards the
Dying stars.
My heart must
Have been cast in
A volcano that
Refused to
Douse itself.
This greed to
Live even when
I'm dead.
Compulsion to
Make the blues
My friends.
Maybe that's why,
I am swimming in
The smoke of
The bridges I've
Burnt.
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