and desperate desires rise up,
in a sad sort of way,
loath to appear yet again, when
they know full well there is
no nourishment to be had.
They're an old sort of wound,
hidden but still tender to touch,
to be avoided at every cost.
Still, though, a mind of their own
is the source of their power
and in the end, all that remains
is to wait for their dying breath
and then a hopeful regaining of self.
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