i know.....
infatuation and obsession
are... somewhat.... compulsive
in need ...and sometimes  
misunderstood
but...
it is writing me inside out
this desire to.......  speak in
ink laden syllables.....
to scribe and etch my self
on the synaspes of your brain
so that i am ever painted... in the background of your pictures
so that my words become... your
idiom and phrases
so that i appear black... and white .. in film noir or slapstick comedy
is this wrong....
is this creepy...
this need to be in your blood..
in every drawn breath..
i am not unhinged or crazy
there are other things......
but you come to me.. at unbidden times and wrest me.....
into this  sojourn
on sanities thin, thin cusp
walking.... the wire of......
ratiocination... one side... ...sapience...
...the other stupidity.....
you are not aware
of me... and you...
should not be
for i am no one......
only a thought upon
a poets page harmless....
and imagined
oh! but to be free to live
life on knife's.....
sharp and cutting edge.....