When you talk to me – or when I think of you – I feel crazy inside.
I feel like doing crazy things.
Like taking highlighters and running the felt tips up my arms. Leaving slick transparent lines of color.
I feel like tasting different inks and biting off the ends of leaves.
I want to eat your hair – lick every strand.
I want to climb a tree.
I want to hold your hand.
I feel like dying would be magnificent. If your eyes could be the last thing I see.
(Just thinking about you makes me crazy.)
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