I waste my days
— regrettably so.
I disregard the world and lie on my bed.
I see you again, but it's all in my head.
I stay in my room, reading of fantasies;
I miss it so,
our sweet little heresy.

I spend my nights, where I lie most awake,
thinking,
thinking,
thinking
— what have I done? What am I doing? What will I do?

You are still in my head, lingering, ever-present, influential...

I want to know if you'd blame me for being scared.