ninety seven

get.
out.
my space.
my deal.
leave me alone.
call me selfish-
but stop messing with my head!
everytime i think i've gotten over you
you apparate once more
engulfing my mind, my desires, my soul.
you become a pseudo passion
with which i simultaneously
yet desperately,
fuse and despise.
quirky,
kinky,
twisted,
i know.
priorities shattered like stemware
on a hard wood floor.
denial and guilt
cuz i've been here so many times before.
will i learn?
am i done?
the thrill is still there.
and that terrifies me.
these seconds i'm shaking
leave me
shuddering
for days.