Desire.
The desire to be good.
The desire to be whole.
The desire to be more.
More than this empty shell.
More than the pounding of my own heartbeat.
A dull, aching rhythm.
The desire to be seen.
To be heard.
The desire to be known.
Know me, for all the good and all the bad.
For the late nights, salted lips and dry heaving throat.
For the rising sun and the dreamless sleep.
For the pitch black void that I call my own mind.
Just please. Don't desire me.
For my skin.
For my touch.
For my body.
Falling in lust is easy.
I've had too much of it.
Too many wandering eyes and following footsteps.
Of hands and mouths and a lie on the tip of a tongue.
A promise of desire.
A desire to take.
Take me for all I am.
For all I could have been.
A promise of more.
More than an empty shell.
More than the pounding of a heartbeat.
A dull, aching rhythm.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
Non-Fictionas the title suggests, this is legit going to be my diary. and yes, most diaries are supposed to be secret, but I have always been an open book. I like to pretend to be mysterious, but the people around me will all tell you that I am am someone who...
