It’s not fair—
the way you look at me
like you know things
I haven’t dared whisper to myself.

My stomach’s in knots,
my brain’s gone soft,
and every **** word you say
feels like a dare
I can’t stop rising to.

You walk by—
and suddenly I’m rewriting my plans,
forgetting my name,
gripping reality like it might float off
on the scent of your cologne.

This isn’t sweet,
it’s not cute,
it’s infuriating
how your smile reroutes my logic,
how one touch
sets fire to my better judgment.

I want to shake it off—
pretend you don’t unravel me
with a glance,
but it’s no use.
I’m possessed.

I’m pacing at midnight,
arguing with ghosts,
mad as hell that I want you
so completely—
and that you don’t even
seem to notice
what you’ve done.

Or worse…
that you do.

You are
the place where logic goes to die—
and honestly,
I’d live there
if it means being near you.