I'm terrified of you. I'm terrified of the way you creep into my mind when I'm sad, thinking of you holding me while I cry my eyes out for no apparent reason. I tremble in fear at the memory of your body tangled in mine, doing what I just realized can be often called "making love". I cower at the concept of potentially falling into something that can only be that ridiculous four letter word I refuse to say or acknowledge the existence of. I don't know if this feeling will last. If it's real or just a fling. I don't know if you think about me as much as I think about you, but a good guess is probably not. I don't know why it has to be you when I know you're sought after by every woman who lays eyes on you, because you have this effect on me and everyone else. All I know is I feel like I'm finally myself when I'm with you. Like I don't have to hold back or dumb myself down to keep from sounding farfetched and ridiculous. I know I really like lying in your bed after we do the *** thing and listening to music, fighting over control of the music because both of us just wants to share as much as possible with the other. I know you make me feel vulnerable, like you can see right ******* through me, right past the facade and tricks that have worked on every man and woman before you, and that will work on every man and woman after you. I am so unbelievably scared to death of you and these feelings. But all I can do is hope to every god and divine being that these feelings stop. Why won't they ******* stop? I already know I could write a thousand poems about you. But I hope this is the first and the last. There is no happy ending or moral to this one. Just a jumbled up mess of emotions, mainly fear. That always seem to leave me shaking.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 9:08 AM UTC
I'm terrified of you. I'm terrified of the way you creep into my mind when I'm sad, thinking of you holding me while I cry my eyes out for no apparent reason. I tremble in fear at the memory of your body tangled in mine, doing what I just realized can be often called "making love". I cower at the concept of potentially falling into something that can only be that ridiculous four letter word I refuse to say or acknowledge the existence of. I don't know if this feeling will last. If it's real or just a fling. I don't know if you think about me as much as I think about you, but a good guess is probably not. I don't know why it has to be you when I know you're sought after by every woman who lays eyes on you, because you have this effect on me and everyone else. All I know is I feel like I'm finally myself when I'm with you. Like I don't have to hold back or dumb myself down to keep from sounding farfetched and ridiculous. I know I really like lying in your bed after we do the *** thing and listening to music, fighting over control of the music because both of us just wants to share as much as possible with the other. I know you make me feel vulnerable, like you can see right ******* through me, right past the facade and tricks that have worked on every man and woman before you, and that will work on every man and woman after you. I am so unbelievably scared to death of you and these feelings. But all I can do is hope to every god and divine being that these feelings stop. Why won't they ******* stop? I already know I could write a thousand poems about you. But I hope this is the first and the last. There is no happy ending or moral to this one. Just a jumbled up mess of emotions, mainly fear. That always seem to leave me shaking.