One hell of a drug.

Even if

You don't dance,

You don't write,

You don't sing,

The way these poems

 Of mine work,

We all should feel the same thing.

And...

I think it's cool how life is based on our perception

And cooler still how our own minds can twist our recollection. 

Remember how this poem started?

It's dripping in deception,

My thoughts are mine, only our emotions count in this connection.

In life, we circle back so many times

That we tend to get desensitized 

It makes it that much harder to see the scenery through different eyes...

And...

Perception between each human being is just one hell of a drug,

We all convinced ourselves that we knew a thing or two about love... 

Then went and stowed our hearts, no matter what we composed them of

They're built of stolen parts, each shard from exes that we dream of...

I couldn't tell you what my ideal idea of real love is.

Far too quixotic for it, I tend to put nothing above this.

I would have died there for it, starving my heart for one more kiss.

From you, I'd overdose. I'd gladly die steeped in that dark bliss...