got to be weary

the mornings are misty, 

cold and dark. 

my head hurts as I haul myself out of bed, 

put on clothes that clearly don't go well together, 

and set off through the fog of dawn. 

I spend my day slumping over in my desk, 

hunched over my notebook like a troll,

not trying to appeal to anyone. 

but then he walks in. 

I don't even like him as a person, 

a friend, 

or as anything more, 

but something about him makes me want to watch him, 

see where he goes, 

and what he does. 

I spend my free periods noticing the way his jeans drag a little on the floor, 

and how his pale, stick like arms look funny with that baggy shirt. 

sure as hell feels like a waste of time. 

at home, he doesn't leave my mind completely. 

rather, he just seems to sit and rot in the back of my brain, 

hindering my studies and my attitude. 

I have no need to talk to him, 

or even a want. 

he's an ugly parasite that I don't even like. 

as I fall asleep, moonlight shining through the windowpane, 

I put my wandering mind to bed. 

things that start out as mere curiosity

have never ended in my favor.

for tomorrow I must be weary of my heart's intentions. 

they never cease to surprise me.