"Smokescreen lust II "

I do not need mirrors.

I need an oxygen tank.

I cannot breathe when I'm thinking about you, and I don't wanna see myself like this.

Like this.

This facade i put on.

When you're around.

This "happy place" I pretend to be in just so you won't see me frown.

Afraid because a man should be a man and shouldn’t cry is what society told me.

& you being around almost twenty four seven seven days a week three hundred and sixty five days per year is proving that society lies.

Society lies but I still fall for them.

This poem should've drowned with my feelings for you but I can still read the smudgy ink.

Photographs in my mind, they aren't real I don't think but I still wish they were; memories of us.

Summer after summer.

A smokescreen of lust mistaken for love.

On my part: that was stupid of me.

Believing you would ever see what I saw.

Fuzzy vision.

Hard heart.

Dried ink.

What do these have in common?

It makes it hard to think about love when you can't see it, feel it in your heart, or write about it.

This poem should've drowned with my feelings.

Instead it's floating on the surface along with the bits & pieces of thoughts about you that reoccur daily.

A daily reoccurrence.

I failed at life since I don't have you.

Submission;

To my thoughts - who would've thought?

You're hold on me would be a death grip on my heart.

And you don't even know my name...

Insane.