Staying in line is easier then crossing the line.

Fear to cross, unable to cross, do I want to cross? I did. An act so dirty, it covered my body, my body was not only mine, but I felt clean. Joy inflamed all of me and doubt soothed that ecstatic pain. I wasn’t hurt. The smell was smothering, the touch burned, and the memory engraved. An unfathomable crave develop. I kept coming back for more of it or more for that? There was a deepening connection, to that. I would take anything. I took the thorns, I took the weeds, i took the leftovers and the ache. I took the comfort, I took warmth, I took the security. I wanted the balance. I still don’t have it and I fall constantly. But I keep coming back for more. I come back for that which drowns me in desire and what appears to be love. That which dilutes my judgment and myself. I’m not only mine. I’m it’s too. I can’t escape it easily nor do I want to. The connection and the bond runs deep. There is a world of truths locked up in one lie and I find that staying in line is much harder then crossing the line. My line is a line. Just not the line you may want.