It’s a warm rush.
Talking to you,
Thinking about you.
I feel these things, feelings, stirring in me.
These things, feelings, all feel right:
Nothing there but you,
Me,
And a right
Feeling.
These thoughts,
Emotions,
Fill me up,
And are barely expelled for the fear of the unknown.
But with you there is no fear.
But with you there is all fear.
It’s a warm rush.
Getting lost in you,
Finding a purer me,
Coming together to shame the stars’ lack of brilliance.
I’m allured to the point of no return.
It’s okay,
I prefer to drift away in your deep sea anyways.
It’s a warm rush.
Similar to the aftermath of alcohol:
Sleek,
Warm,
And tingly.
Potentially dangerous, but you indulge just for the thrill of the effect.
However with you,
It’s a sleeker feeling.
A warmer feeling.
The tingly sensation circles my body, runs all over,
And feels almost as perpetual as the bottles gone through.
You’ll always be more dangerous,
As dangerous to the point where it’s necessary to keep exploring in order to find the perfect balance between beauty and madness.
But that sliver of madness is so appealing;
I keep chasing and chasing and chasing,
Realizing I’m just dreaming in circles, but not shifting direction.
It’s a warm rush.
I never want to forget the rush.
Please don’t forget the rush.