Desire is merely emptiness lasting long enough for a dire span of fasting to fade the sweetness of last time's tasting, leaving one breathless and for air gasping. Sinister my void grows, hunger gnawing, thirst enlarging despite ever drawing from the well that promises restoring water, but instead strengthens its calling. I desire rich words like honey dripping. To simple phrases my ears stay gripping in hopes of cheers and compliment sipping, but instead I fear connections slipping. Desire is merely emptiness lasting long enough for a dreadful breakfasting to prove there's no use in truly tasting meals best kept sealed in condition pristine.
This was written for no good reason. Just felt like it.
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