I am possessive.

Once I see that it could be mine,

I capture it in my skull.

Their memories fill the grit of the bone.

I grasp tightly,

And if I let go, I am afraid I will die.

The loss of my own possession,

Fills me with horror.

If I were to loosen the leeches one bit,

Would they run in an instant?

I am good at pretending.

I pretend that I am not possessive.

I do not love you,

But I still must have you in my hand.

You are my possessions.

I must control your actions,

And if I do not,

I am terrified of the collapse.

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