I've got to stop writing poems about you. my entire journal is filled with your name and I'm not entirely sure how I'm passing all my classes when all I ever do is daydream about your hands. i think I'm going insane because lately, it's gotten to the point where I am wishing I was the white cotton sheets that you carelessly sleep in. I have found myself making wishes to be the cigarettes you love to smoke so deeply; so I could be in between your lips and you would be addicted to me.