It is an illness, it is illegal, it is a terrible obsession/compulsion, and it wrecks the lives of its victims and the victim’s friends and families…
The Sunday Whirl blog invites writers to write a poem or short prose using some or all of the “wordle’s” 12 word.
This week’s words are:
I go on sprees, sprees, sprees.
I download art, art, art.
I type “naked body” in the search box.
I stare at this or that hot part.
It takes away my breath, breath, breath.
A fearsome use in solitude.
Then I leave and stare though windows,
Hope to see a semi-nude.
What reserves inside me flutters,
Intimate outsider I remain.
My face reflected like a painted primitive
While I’m stalking through the pane.
I’ve written love notes to them.
They’ve filed orders keeping me away
I’ve shuttered windows in my mind
To keep thoughts of their nakedness at bay.
But I still, still, still
go on sprees, sprees, sprees.
It’s no use, use, use:
Help me, stop me,