a/n Um...More poetry... ,-.-', It seems this is my way to escape certain death due to not updating...

Why do we tell ourselves we need something?

We yearn for something we aught never have,

I tell myself,

I want it--

I NEED it--

I have to HAVE it!?

But all it does is feed the growing sensation of yearning,

Our hearts a fresh new womb of addiction.

For Instance:

The games we play.
The need to defeat the impossible 'Boss' at the end of each level.

In reality,
We face off against the
'Big, Bad,
Hollow'
Tell ourselves we can beat him, like all
the
other
hollows
before.

And we can't.

As we try, and

try again,

we feed the
addiction.

We know
We'll never win.

But we tell ourselves,

'We gotta try!'

'This time,
For sure!'

'I know I can
do it!
I really
Can!'

But

We

Can't.

Or,

When your poems never
sound right,

Should've been a song,

Long enough to be a play,

'Crap, to say the least.'

You find as you lay your
head
upon your
desk,
that it's so short a stanza, that's
stumped
You, when your poem seems no longer than a couplet. You
sigh.
'I've got to finish!'

'I KNOW I Can!!'

But

You

Can't.

Or,

How we tell ourselves we need
'It'.

We scrounge our money,
hiding it,
keeping it safe
from prying eyes.

Tell ourselves it's ours to keep,
we tuck it away,
gradually adding to it,
hoping to reach your goal.

And as soon as you can,
the Price
is

Raised.

You want to get it,

And it's just out of your grasp.

You want to reach it,

But

You

Can't.

Or, how you
Love.

Each time,
you
know
it will just
add
to
your sorrow.

But you fall anyways,
head over heels.
You tell yourself to back away slowly, to
run
before it's too late.

But

You

Don't.

Because

You

Can't.
You are addicted to love,
no
doubt about it.
You toss and
turn
at night, wanting to
escape
the pain of him not coming home
at night,
Not being there to
comfort
You,
at night,
wrap his arms
around
You,
Stroke your hair,
and wipe away your tears.
He no longer has the
patience
For you, nor the balls necessary to
stand up
For you.
So
instead,
he
stood you up.

And you still lay in your bed at
home,
alone,
crying your eyes out into your pillow, depressing the wrinkly
pillowcases
on your
bed.
The bed you
shared.
The bed you had
loved in.
The bed that had made you even more

Addicted to
Him.

a/n If you got ANY of the symbolism, I will LOVE YOU FOREVER!
I was listening to Blue October when I wrote this...(History For Sale Album XP ) If that's apparent, gomen.

Please Review!!