It is, maybe, or is it?

no?
not this one…
one,
two,
three,
not it.
if it
was,
it will
be.
you know…
no?

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Art of a habit

i must apologize,
i’m touching myself again.
it’s hard not to.
i’m plagued with an insatiable urge,
but once entertained,
it passes.
trying to ignore it,
makes me focus on it more.
creativity is much the same to me,
i’ll have urges that come in waves,
and i tend them when i need.
it seems i have more habits
than i realize.

Dry lips leave cotton tongue

it’s been dry here.
so dry that mention of a cracker
brought moisture to my lips.
i was parched and began to feel dizzy.
i walked up right,
but the spins spun,
tracing the circles of craving,
wetness a conclusion to
a hypothesis of patience.
surely i will survive.
we all, thus far, have survived.
every second that passes supports
both will
and desire.
duration exaggerated by impatience.
time lengthens the petulance of yearning,
while devouring the steadfastness of will.
the will succumbs under the foot of habit,
or maybe it is will’s nature.
there is no habit but that of the will.
i surrender,
i submit,
i do not wish to deny
this nature.
i must seek what i need.
i must get what i need.
i am must be what i need.
now that i’m full,
i can be happy,
until the next time.