To be frank,
I'm terrified to wits end.
I finally found someone
Worth all the trouble,
Whom I only just begun to know,
But he...
I'm fighting over him with the devil.

This monster taunts me,
Haunts my dreams,
As I shriek in terror
Of the shows he puts on,
Each and everyone
Showing me crumbling,
You gone.
Showing me what would happen,
Once true love is found and taken away.

But I fight.
It's the only thing I know how to do.
He lent me his skills,
I used mine,
And together, it evens out the odds.

Maybe I do have a chance of winning after all.
I've got my love for you in one hand,
And my fears in the other.
They show me strategies to win.

But will it be enough?

It made me
Sick.

The kind of sick
That books describe
As green,
Ghostly skinned
With red rust noses.

Sick to my stomach
Like when you wake up
At 2:00 AM
And realize that
Something
Is
Not
Right
Before you sprint
Down the hall
To the bathroom
And ***** pizza bagels into the
Pristine marble sink.

It made me sick like
When it gets so bad that
Blowing your nose hurts
Because the extra soft Kleenex
Have scratched your skin raw
Over
And
Over
Again.

It made me sick
When I realized
That it wasn't you that I loved
But the feeling of being loved.

Is it you I love?
Or is it the idea
Of being the loved?