Sunday, June 21

The Mists

What are those mists that trample the soul?
Love isn't scarce, only one to give its dole.
Each day is a battle against the temptations,
Lasting an eternity, tormented by sensations.

I inject you in my memories to get that high,
So that I can write and never question why.
One week has passed and eternity lies ahead,
But I have much to conquer before I go to bed.

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