Rock Writers’ Guild

Obsession, it starts as an idle thought, not overwhelming but subtle like a gentle scent of hibiscus carried on a soft summers breeze. It surounds me completly, stiring longings that had been buried and forgoten. Remembering the good times and forgeting the past. The obsession returns coming silently like a ghost out of the mist. Birthing my imagination into fantasys of the finest linens, I ache once more. Although I know its forbiden fruit causing me to die a thousand times over, no longer the sirens call I resist. I tumble into my lovers arms to die once more.