Bipolar*

Immersed
Absorbed
Yet totally abhorred

Inside
From behind
And never too old

To get
To let
To get back
And to hold

Thy breath
Thy death
Both of which I adore

Spaced out
No doubt
Of too much mold

In need
To feed
My eager hold

To get
To let
To get back
And to fold

Thy will
Thy thrill
Thy lust and thy whore