You always want what you can't have

Anger.

Self-loathing.

Failure.

Mourning.

Wishful thinking.

Desire.

Lust,
Violent lust.

Hate turns to want,
Want turns to need,
Need turns to need not,
Red hot, Desirous attachment.

I'll see her soon, and maybe she will dance. I want to dance with her, moving as one, as she says it happens.

I ache for another moment like the ones we had before, those fierce minutes when we talked as if there was nothing else in the world, encapsulated in the dark and the leather and the candles and the wine. Maybe if we had another such moment it might...might what? It would do nothing that is good for me.

I build up my heroes, and preserve them, pinned to a board like butterflies...maybe still quivering involuntarily and dead...for examination later: a morbid fascination; picking at the scabs of my life like a child.