camille, words are my possession
at the moment, also a heart
ready to implode at a sigh.
this infinite night has estranged me
from the wonders of the stars.
and i find no redemption
as this instance is the same
place i long not to be.
and there is no profusion
as this space becomes a great
emptiness where i can reach
no one.
not even you.
see, i cannot reach you,
the omnipresent truth
of fantasy and reality.
and for that i am one stale desire:
a smokeless fire.
this sadness bleeds into a poem
that cannot be written by these words
i own.
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