Strange, art thou soul.

Fickle, art thou spirit.

What does it mean to long, to pine, to harp…

…to monologue as if an audience watches from the shadows.

True words are favored, are sought, are craved.

Unabashed emotion, unfiltered and unedited thoughts: erotic and exquisite.

Why hide from real?

Truly… why?

Give me truth, undiluted and poisonous, and I’ll drink it like the sour, delightful nectar that it is.

Nothing else is real, or worthy.