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Melded

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Where is my soul?
My soul is hungry,
yearning for
a bite of this
a bite of that.
I want to believe
my soul can be quieted,
but others say I’m insatiable.

Where is your soul?
Your soul is empty,
accepting blows like
they are deserved,
invaded, robbed.
Your soul is in the state of drifting
to where my soul is.

Our souls, intertwined,
softly molded with
thumbprints,
Until our lines are no more.
Just one mass of depression and
desire.
Here,
I found our souls.





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