If my mind were a piece of paper you'd be scribbles.
Endless circular motions that go deeper and deeper into the paper until the permanent marker broke through it.
The ink of you would work itself into every part of the paper's surroundings.
You'd be different colors too.
My anger, jealousy, happiness, and sadness.
Red, green, yellow, and blue.
You'd be fine tipped and bold tipped.
Piercing specific places and blanketing every thought that occurred.
If my mind were a paper it'd be covered with your words.
Your words, too many, overlaid upon each other to become unreadable.
There would be none of my own, original, markings.
You'd be everywhere.
You're everywhere.
I just wrote this because I talked to my friend about how we seem to be obsessed with a person if we like them. They're all we think about. I'd love some feedback and constructive criticism since I might read some poetry on Friday