Love is a drug

I’m still breathing, my heart still beating. My senses are all functional and my emotions are very raw. Giving someone the power to make you smaller is giving up on yourself. Don’t let people get the upper hand in your card game. You own yourself and no one else has the right to make you feel like less of a person.

Love is a drug of a evil/indulgent/vulgar/seductive type.

It will rule your heart with an iron fist and leave you in the dust. A frail unsure, unsteady, shell of a person. Which move will be the one that sends you away? Which word will cross my unclenched lips that will push you into my sunset? Emotional blackmail without a word spoken.

Love is a drug of a disobedient/malicious/sensual/charismatic type.

I sit here typing this with full knowledge that my beloved could be talking/fucking/kissing/longing/fixating on another. I am powerless to stop such an interaction. I can only control me. This disappoints me. I’d like to you control you, and you, and you, and you, etc. It would be so nice because then NO ONE could EVER be a disappointment.

Love is a drug of a yearning/unaccepted/dilussional/inaudible type.

I am but a puppet in your show. I jump and sway with every twitch of your hand, suspended in the air by the strings you have attached to me. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth it never stops. My feet searching for solid ground that is never to be found, only flashes of structure before my eyes. If I had a wish that would reach to your lips/eyes/ears/heart/soul it would be for your arms to be wrapped around me and they’d be made of promises kept, instead of the many tears my eyes have wepted.