I am reluctant, though not by choice.
Me: matters of the head over matters of the heart.
Eternally guarded and collected, forever taking heed.
But now days blur, I draw breath with a stuttering heart, and all composure is lost.
There is seduction in stumbling through a haze such as this.
I'm grasping at coherent thought
I never knew I could take pleasure in such blind terror.
I never knew I could take comfort in your hand on my throat.
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