The fool speaks --
"What is this thing called love?"
The spirit is weak yet the heart still beats,
hot blood coursing through pallid veins,
veins of a hollow shell,
that only lives in your light.
What is this thing that torments me?
When I look on my pillow with fright
another night with empty arms
and the vision of you,
laughing in their grasp...
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last night was a good 45-48 minutes...
maybe tonight though... heh.