I remember being homeless
how my spirit ached for peace
I remember wanting, needing
passion dimmed by darker hungers
than I'd ever seek to fill.
I remember shadowed corridors
that crawled with ancient paramours--
the ones I thought I'd buried
I feigned freedom as I carried
rusted needles filled with freedom
bottles brimmed with thick release
For demons are like loves: they never die.
Friday, January 11, 2008
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