A Penny For A Trunk Full Of Dusty Thoughts

Have you ever fallen in love with the one person everyone told you not to?
Forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest...
But how do you even know what love is.
It can't be sex. Just sex anyway.
Fitting together in a way that no one else could know or understand.
Love doesn't spring insecurity when I have to bend over backwards,
to get you to hear a damn word I say.
I hate how the testosterone percentage of the population think my tits are more compelling than my eyes.
One day when they're old and saggy you'll all finally look at my face and by then I'll be blind
and won't even be able to appreciate the change.
I hate how I have to drag my eyes away from you when you're in the room.
Your presence hummmms through the air and electric body heat emulates from you in waves.
(I buzzzzzz with anticipation.)
My inspiration is dead these days. My muse fled with my sanity.
Maybe all this new-found fucking is giving me concussions I'm unaware of.
I should have put a barrier between my head and the headboard during that ruckus.
(Where's a damn pillow when you need one?)
My thoughts drip like a faucet and all the drops of my coherent thoughts go spiralling down the drain.
Im partial to reaching down rusty pipes for the one piece of my mind that has survived.
And yet I still cling to the hope that my future isn't as fucked up as my past.
And maybe, just maybe, you'll be sticking around even though
I don't know what you are to me and just how I feel.
I cling to you and yet at the same time I try to drive you away.
(I have a habit of doing this...)
Maybe I do love you. Maybe it's just sex.
I might not ever know because this adament bipolar bitch won't stop talking.
Who knows, but I wouldn't be the same if I did.