I ache to be inside your head,

to feel what shall not be spoken of

but only felt by your most sacred moments

in time.

To see what your heart feels,

what you think as you observe your day,

those thoughts you keep stacked away,

always nagging at your skin,

wanting to be released

but not to be shared.

I want to know your hidden parts,

those who smell of roses

but look dark as your shadows,

like the whole of confusion,

of separation to the others.

Because the others will never understand.

Because the others are not like you.

(B.GT.)

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