Close to her
She sits alone, perishing like a cloud of dust in the desert. Her thoughts rise and fall, the way the wind's fury tumbles over the dunes. A gentile decent into insanity she could never foresee. It wasn't always this way, her sanity sailed away from the coast of reason only half a decade ago.
Now, she is as lost as she is beautiful. She is everything I ever wanted her to be. I could say she makes a poet out of me, but that wouldn't be enough. A poet is just a man with a delicate heart, and her mind made a human out of me.
She gave me life, forged me out of the deepest corner of her soul, my frequent refuge. Among the cracks of raw fear and anguish. Yes, I love her, and she loves me back. Only love could make me rise and stand tall next to her. Well, not stand, her limbs wore out a long time ago, now I sit next to her.
Always. Every waking second of every day, I am here. She drowns into me, blessed impotence, my meal, my all. I will be here for as long as she's alive. Barely, but alive. Her strength is still admirable, even now, when she can't let a word out. She cries to her daughters, warning them of me, of my presence, my kind of love.
The screams die down, so does her soul, and I can feel the warmth of her spawn, the one that looks most like her. Her inability to see me arouses me even more, I long to touch that sweet, soft neck of hers.
But there is still time, a sip of life clinging to my claws, holding them back. Soon my love, you will leave me, and she, they will all see me...
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