When I look at you, I feel like I am dying. Not the bad kind of dying, but the kind of dying where my lungs forget how to function and the oxygen can't seem to find its' way in.
The kind of dying where every hair on my body stands straight up, the muscles contracting like an icy wind just crept up my spine- frigid and tempting.
My eyes can't seem to break their gaze from you, like one of those cheesey scenes from a romance movie where they zoom in slowly on the person's face- locked on fixation.
My heart-rate slows, making it feel like there's no blood left in my body to pump, movements as slow as an IV drip full of Morphine.
Like my veins closed up and are rejecting circulation- just as i am rejecting focus on anything but you.
I can feel a warmth creep through me, like venom seeping into my blood after a deadly bite from a pit viper- just the perfect temperature to hatch the thousands of cocoons resting in my stomach lining.
I go to open my mouth, to speak to you, to converse about silly things like why the moon and sun never seem to meet, or why human toes are so odd- but all that seems to break its' way out of my body are butterflies of the most potent vibrancy, colors that don't even have names.
Colors so vivid and enchanting that only fairytales and daydreams could house them, conjure them up with spells of the highest power.
Your eyes catch me staring and I go weak in the knees- my body unable to decide whether it'd rather collapse to the ground in a motionless pile, sinking into the soil to become the undergrowth that feeds fungi and small flowers, or to kick itself into hyper-drive, frolicking about like a newborn fawn feeling sun on its back during its' first Spring.
Yet all it seems my mind can really fathom is the craving for you, like an intense sense of fiending for nicotine crawling through my flesh.
An addiction I couldn't stop, even if I wanted to. Since I will never stop wanting you.