Love sickness

What starts as a flutter between my skin and ribs,

Beating to the rhythm of my fixation,

Concludes with an aggravating assault on the heart.

A gnawing of sorts, upon the inner lining of my gut-

Like a mountain has lodged itself in the crick of my throat.

So much so, that words can’t be spoken

But read in tiny tender lines of fervent poetry.

Love sickness is by far and away the most arduous contagion.

Infecting the entirety of my intelligence

Until I am left emptied.

Hollowed of sanity

Of rational

Of lucidity.

In spite, the sentiment of infatuation

Satiates the nourishment of sensitivity-

The catalyst to this pestilence…

That which I would never exterminate.

For regardless of the suffering,

Falling in love has never harmed a soul.