Your love is an inclement shadow
on the dust-ridden floorboards
of the house with the rickety
white picket fence at the end of the road.
Your eyes are flashlights
shining too bright
into my face and blinding me
from the world around.
Your touch is ten thousand volts
of electricity pulsing through my veins
like a horde of rodents
attacking my body from the inside out.
Your very existence
torments me to the brink of a violent
insanity that hovers
ever-present in my mind.
It is most
for you to be
This is what happens when I write a stream of consciousness at midnight. Yeah.