Angles

By Cassandre Smith

Insatiable; dripping desire from every pore
Trapped, tight space, acute angle, the dreaded love triangle
Two is even, two is serene, two is sensible, not overindulging

Oblivious; tumbling through black corridors, reaching for air
Suspicions of a second; nothing concrete; secrets tightly locked, tucked away beneath the tumultuous sea
Continue to tumble and grasp; you'll never find what I decide is not there

Surging; power, control through my veins, bursting to escape from my skin
Wanted, needed, to an extreme
Serotonin overload; a drug too rich for the senses; melts on the tongue

Indecisive; a tug of war of the heart and mind; the prize is sanity
I cannot choose; minus one angle
Triangle becomes a line; extending through space, eternally, numbingly
The same


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