Philosophical Lust

Hours pass without a word/ just the sound of a bird/ and the feeling/ it was only a dream.// Days without the human touch/ becomes just too much/ for the soul to endure/ in a world so cold and mean.// The fire that burned/ has been snuffed out/ and all joy becomes pain/ and the dream is all too real/ and the ashes of the past/ are all that remains. That wan't very philosophical, and hardly lusty at all. Sanity is firmly embracing me, like a lifeguard preventing me from being sucked into a riptide and being carried away. The madness of a few days ago seems like it never happened, but I am ambivalent about my safety. Though I was absolutely mad, I felt alive and free, unconstrained by the bounds of decency. I still have that post to prove it happened, and I feel excited when I think of my wild ride, the incoherent rambling, and of evading the librarian's attention as I pleased myself again. The madness shall return, driven by the love I dare not find. My only hope is that this love finds me, before all this sanity truly drives me mad.

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