sound pounds through my head
the sharp click of the forks against plates
and the scuff of my boots on the floor
light refracts against my eyes and my retinas cry
there's itches all over i cannot scratch
and each smell is a toxic chemical
forcing their way through slim, crowded canals,
synapses, etc.; into my throbbing head.
and all that's left is this image
and sound and smell and itch
of you making some other girl laugh,
and no matter how hard i try,
no matter how much i want to
take your hands and kiss your face,
i'm not strong enough. i can't do it.
i can't let myself go like that
without knowing
without seeing and breathing and believing
that you want it too.
you see, the problem is, when i look in your eyes,
i can't tell if it's your passion burning
or mine reflected that i see.