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Consumed
The passion inside us consumes us
Until all we see is that which controls us
Nothing else will console us, for all that we are is what we need.
Without it we are empty,
Nothing but a shell,
All that we say
All that we tell
Relates back to the passion we cannot quench
The last thing we think about before we sleep
The first thing on our mind when we awake
Never far from our thoughts
Only momentarily displaced by something more prominent
It is an obsession
an unsatiable hunger for that which we desire.
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