Will you loan me your own lone moan,
for mine was snipped short from the start?
The right thing isn’t always right.
Too long I’ve tried to be good, and
it isn’t good. Weeks chasing dopamine,
and I don’t want to be chemically castrated.
Emotionally, inevitably, there’s a drop.
Drip-drop down, down, down—downtown.
I need you. Need to live vicariously
in you for a while. Hold me safe,
secure, until the light beacons at the end
and I can begin on my own again?
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