Is it you? Or

the thought of you? Or

maybe just the lingering taste of you?

Either way, my stomach aches and

my mind is so over-crowded its

filing away vital components necessary for

the most basic of social interaction.

A colloquialism and a cliché,

we’re breaking the rules in all the same old ways.

What’s worse than loving you?

I’m messed up more than you know and

in these smalls hours I’m

alone in my claustrophobic antisocial sentiments

with only you,

the thoughts of you,

and the lingering taste of you

to curb my indecent enthusiasm for being

your Number One Head-case.