11 May 2012
He scratched his skin, as if to relieve the itching of his blood, Bringing it up to the surface, the last few layers, the only dam before the flood.
His jaw clenched so tight, his ivory grinding into bone, He could not bare the separation, without it he felt alone.
He did not even want it, and he knew he didn't need it, If he could open a window for it to fly away, then long ago he would have freed it.
It wasn't for addiction, and it wasn't for the taste, it was something always missing, that refused to be replaced. It did not help his ego, nor did it make him whole, But without it, after all these years, he felt abandoned by his soul.
Soul • Opuss № I