Figment Becomes He
January 13, 2011
By: Magnolia
*
Through him my imagination is lit
He exists, in two forms: that which I suppose and that which he is
And oh how delicious the idea of him tastes with my eyes wide shut
But yet how bitter the truth seeps down into my gut
His hands surround my hips as I use his mouth to rest my lips
And in my dreams he lays
And I am frozen in what seems like a permanent gaze
And I cannot shake him from my thoughts
Despite the nails hammered into the cross
Riveted then Emotionless
Overcome then Overwhelmed
Devastation and Fascination
I lay here under a spell, cast by my own imagination
*
*
